


A God’s Mercy

by Spicymayomagi



Category: Greek and Roman Mythology
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Comedy, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, I have no idea what I’m doing, Master/Servant, Mentions of Child Murder, Punishment, Romance, eventual smut(?), homo tension, or maybe sooner than you think lol idfk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-04-30 10:37:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 22
Words: 27,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14495106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spicymayomagi/pseuds/Spicymayomagi
Summary: The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.





	1. Chapter 1

The flame hovered just inches away from her face. The acridly sweet scent seared the sensitive hairs in her nose and she couldn't help the tears that began to well in her eyes. Terror jumped up and down her throat as she twisted her head desperately to avoid the dripping wax, but it was hardly any use. The chains that bound her limbs wouldn't give an inch. She felt a wet scalding splatter across her nose, her cheek and she gave a sharp cry. It hurt so much! Some of it landed in her hair— a curious contrast, flecks of white against pure black. How delicious, she was crying now. Bawling. Apollo only watched, amusement twitching the curves of his mouth. A humorless chuckle bubbled from his lips. "Let's play." He tipped the candle down.


	2. Chapter 2

Eos, the Great titaness of the dawn, was masterful in her work. Today, her rose tinted fingertips seemed to caress the mountains of Attica with the greatest tenderness. As was Apollo, the Great Phoebus, who joined Eos in her dance to create a most resplendent sunrise. He rose slowly, majestically, curled in a great orb of amber gold. Iris weaved her way between them, as the sky seemed very much like a rainbow of magnificent blues, reds, oranges, purples, and pinks. Perhaps that was because today was a most auspicious occasion. 

In the great polis of Athens, the Festival of Artemis Brauronia came only once every 5 years. Melantriche was so happy she'd lived long enough to be apart of it yet again. It had been the most joyous time of her life, so she could hardly sleep the night before. 

The festival of Brauronia was a very special tradition for Athenian women. It was customary that the free girls between 5 and 10 be brought to participate. This was so that they would be blessed with Artemis' protection until they were wed. It was a very rare treat that the women of Athens be allowed out of their homes, so Melantriche remembered every second of it. She even had one of the slaves bring her her old costume: a bear skin and a saffron robe. She rubbed the fur in between her thumb and forefinger, a small smile gracing her white features.

It was said that the festival had been started by the daughter of King Agamemnon, Iphigeneia. Agamemnon had earned the ire of Artemis by killing one of her beloved bears. As such, she cursed the Spartan winds to be as still as the styx's breath. To calm her anger, Agamemnon resolved to sacrifice Iphigeneia for good sailing during the Great Trojan War. Due to the kind Artemis' good grace, the maiden was saved by being replaced with a slave instead. Iphigeneia wandered into the arms of the Tauri people, where she repaid her debt to Artemis by becoming her priestess. The temple that Iphigenia had built up became Brauron. At least, that was a version Melantriche thought was right. 

The bear skin was to honor Artemis, and her title as "The Great She-Bear". The saffron robe was to pay homage to the bears themselves, and the she-bears who cast their own robes down for their goddess. Women who had successfully borne healthy children were to offer their garments to Artemis, while ones who died in childbirth or had reared undesirable children would take their garments to the stele of Iphigeneia. But Melantriche still had hers. Though she was already 13, she had not had any children yet, let alone been married. Although, in ways this was a good thing. After all, she could still participate in the ceremony. 

The first time Melantriche had been to the festival she was 8, and it had been her birthday. Her father, a prominent member of the Athenian council, spared no expense in buying her the finest furs and silks that money could buy. Verily, her chiton seemed like a river of molten gold, soft to the touch when she slid her finger across it. And the bearskin was something she could've slept in all her life. It was thick and soft, large enough to fit her even now. It was a lovely cherry wood color, and it had been perfumed to smell like mountain roses. She had been so happy then, she kissed her father's face all over and thanked him with all her heart.  
She had been a part of an arkteis, that of which only the noble maids had been able to participate in. They worked hard to practice a dance called the Arkteia. In the dance, they stepped slowly and solemnly, imitating the movements of a she-bear. During the dance they had to discard their clothes to the floor, and crawled around on their hands and knees, completely naked. But this was nothing to be embarrassed of; for men were forbidden to enter the temple during this ritual. Rather, they waited outside. But sometimes on occasion a young boy would be allowed to participate in the ritual as well. That was why that year, a little boy who was no less than 5 years sat in the corner, playing expertly a melody out of a diaulos.  
The women would sing, dance, run races, give offerings and prayers, and so forth. That year, Melantriche had offered her most prized possession: a figurine of a young stag that her father had given her as a birthday present that same day. It was so elegantly crafted: it was molten entirely out of solid silver and it's eyes were made of little emeralds. She would have liked to keep it forever, but her devotion to Artemis was more. The way she saw it, it was no mere coincidence that her birthday was the same day the Festival of Brauronia.  
She wrapped the little figure in a small silk cloth. Bowing reverently before the sacred spring, she prayed beneath her breath,  
"Lady Artemis, Goddess of the Moon and Mistress of all wildlife, it was the fates that brought us together. Whatever is mine is yours. Please, accept my offering."  
And with that, she let the little bundle fall from her hands and plop down into the cold water. The spring's stream was where all the offerings went, and were said to lead to the Great Artemis' forest. Apparently many men had tried to follow the stream, but no matter how hard they looked, they always got lost and had to give up. 

"It is the the will of the Gods," Melantriche's father chided her once. "The Lady of the Moon does not want to be found by mortal men. The fools! Do not follow their example, Little Melantriche. It will do you no good, I promise you."

Father was a very wise man. Wise and kind, and so she obeyed him. But secretly in the back of Melantriche's mind, she wondered about it. The men became lost because Artemis did not want them near. But... if Melantriche was to follow it, would she to be lost? Was she also undesirable by the Goddess of the moon and hunt? Or would she be welcomed eagerly? To find that you were unfavorable in the eyes of a god would be sorrowful indeed, but Melantriche couldn't help but be curious. 

The sound of a door opening abruptly surprised her from her thoughts. She looked away from the window to see Lyra, her slave. She held a towel in her hand, and she bowed respectfully. 

"Lady is up early."

Melantriche grinned happily. "I couldn't help it."

"To rise with Lord Apollo is good thing, Lady." She raised her head, her short sandy hair bobbing slightly. There was a certain playfulness in the woman's gray-blue eyes. Lyra has been Melantriche's as long as she could remember. She was 5 years older and she often looked after Melantriche in her childhood. Melantriche was fond of her. She was good-hearted and she liked her jokes. 

"Shall you be wanting to get ready now?" 


	3. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.

Melantriche could hardly sit still in her seat. 

"Lady," Lyra giggled as she laced her thin fingers into Melantriche's black hair. "It's ever so hard to braid if you shake like that." 

"I'm too excited, I can't help it!" Melantriche tittered. It had taken nearly half the day just to get ready. Lyra had bathed her extra long this time, so as to make her lady look the finest. Her father had bought a new perfume for her. It was meant to be the smell of cypress, mint, and Olympian anemone. They had to have her saffron chiton readjusted to fit her now mature size. The bear skin was also being refurbished. Over 7 hours from dawn, Melantriche had been oiled, shaved, buffed, and perfumed. To her, it had been a very tedious process. She was sure none of the more common girls had to go through this little bathing ceremony, and she was almost jealous of them. 

"Oh, this is so boring." Melantriche whined softly, childishly swinging her slender legs back and forth. "I want to hurry and go outside!" 

Lyra laughed. "Oh, I know, sweet Lady. But I beg you, please have a little patience. At least until I finish your hair." 

Melantriche pouted as she stared into her mirror. She hated looking at herself like this. The people around her always remarked about her astounding beauty, but she couldn't see any of that.   
Beautiful indeed, Melantriche thought, annoyed, as she glared at herself. Many believed paleness was a sign of wealth and beauty. But she wasn't just pale, she was a ghost! If she eyed herself properly, she could see her blue veins protruding against the inside of her skin. Blondes were the most popular beauties in Greece. Pure golden hair with blue eyes were the idealized beauty, so much so that she heard rumors of the latest fashion trend: bleaching. But Melantriche was the opposite of this, having deeply black hair and brown eyes, hence the name her father had given her: Melantriche, meaning black-haired one. Her face was too chubby, her lips too plump. She was too skinny, and had no breasts. How could anyone find someone like her beautiful? 

Suddenly she saw Lyra's face next to hers, scrunched in displeasure. She recognized that expression. 

"Please don't judge yourself, Lady." She insisted as she put her hands on her shoulders. "We humble folk always see faults in ourselves. It's like when you look at a word for too long and it starts to look wrong, like. Personally, I think you're the loveliest little maid I ever saw." 

It didn't make much sense to Melantriche, but it still made her feel better. A tiny smile pulled at the edges of her lips. 

"Thank you." 

Lyra wasn't what you would call beautiful. She wasn't horrible to look at, but Father certainly hadn't bought her as a concubine. Rather, she was just plain. Her hair was a dirty blond, her small eyes only a dull blue, and her skin was far from perfect; it had all kinds of scars, blemishes, and sunspots. She was a tall and skinny woman, having no particular curves to boast of. But Melantriche always admired the fact that she looked strong. She had a deep neckline, a firm grip, and sturdy body. If Melantriche could ever remember a time when Lyra was beaten for disobedience, she could remember that Lyra hardly ever cried. Even when she hurt herself or got sick, she worked without a complaint. She'd never broken a bone, nor had she ever sprained her ankles—unlike Melantriche, who always got hurt one way or another when climbing the trees in the garden. She had always been somewhat fragile, like a doll. 

Melantriche was silent for a time before whispering softly, "I wish I were strong like you, Lyra." 

"I'm sure you do, Lady. But to be honest, I'm not that strong." 

"You are. You have muscles and you can do anything." 

Lyra smiled and patted Melantriche's shoulder.  "That's men's talk. Muscles can only take you halfway. If you start thinking like that, then you'll be as stupid as men, Lady, pardon if I could say so. But I think there are other ways of being strong. I think you could be strong too, Lady, if you put hard work into it."

Melantriche raised an eyebrow as she turned her head. "What do you mean? How else can one become strong?" 

"Ah, please don't move so, Lady! I still haven't finished." Melantriche obeyed and became completely still.

"But you know, the Lady Aphrodite doesn't have muscles. No muscles like the Fierce Ares, but see how she is honored! She commands love, the fiercest element in the human heart, and does what she pleases without her husband to rule over her."

"You say that it is strength to-" Melantriche was quick to catch herself, afraid of the hubris that could've slipped off her tongue. 'Forgive me, Great Aphrodite, I didn't mean it!' She thought nervously to herself. 

"No, no, Lady, great Heavens! What I mean to say is that following your path and not caring what people think could be a strength. To endure scorn and shame is a strength, too. I hope to Great Zeus that you will never have to endure the hate of others, but if you should ever find yourself in that situation, you must remember to be strong. If you can do that, then you can do anything—and I believe that you could do it, if it happens." 

It was then that Melantriche thought she might have realized the secret of Lyra's strength. War was never an opportune time for women, unlike the men who started them. And what was more, slaves were produced from war. 

A melancholy sensation filled Melantriche's heart then.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Damn. Not an update for the last several months. But like, tons of better stories than mine? Also there’s plenty of other chapters to be updated. Still, im so excited to be working on this book.


	4. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.

Soon enough, Lyra's hands ceased to move and she stepped back to admire her artistry. "I'm done, Lady." She said, smiling as if nothing happened, "Does it please you?" 

Melantriche let her hands wander to the braids tied tightly to her head, but barely touched them, as she were afraid they would unravel at the slightest sensation. She had ornamented the knots with small white lotuses, and her braids were clasped secure with saffron ribbons. As Lyra had spoke of her opinion of true strength, Melantriche had barely even paid attention to what she was doing in the mirror. Now she could safely say that Lyra was indeed a master artisan. 

"Oh, Lyra..." Melantriche breathed, feeling tears coming. It was the first time she ever truly felt the slightest beautiful. 

At her lady's reaction, Lyra chortled with pride. "There'll be no need for makeup, Lady. You're rosy enough as it is." 

"Thank you!" Melantriche stood to hug her, but the sound of the door opening restrained her. She looked up to see her mother, Leida, enter the room. 

Leida was a goddess of a woman. She was a tall and graceful beast. Her skin was as fair as abalone, and her blue eyes twinkled like sapphires. Her hair was black, almost as black as Melantriche's. While she had already been clothed in a fine chiton, her hair had not yet been done. It fell in a long, dark wavy river all the way to her upper thighs. She stood in the doorway, tall and authoritative. After a long moment of silence, she walked stiffly towards Melantriche and examined her. Melantriche resisted squirming beneath her cold assertive gaze. What seemed years later, Leida scoffed. 

"You are still not ready." 

Another slave girl stood in the doorway. She was so quiet and meek that no one had noticed her until Leida had her come forward. In her hands she carried an elegant wooden jewelry box. She opened it for Leida to reveal the glittering of countless polished pins, rings, and necklaces.   
Melantriche gasped. Her mother's jewelry was very important to her. It felt like a milestone of affection had been placed upon her as Leida began to decorate her.   
It was barely a moment before Leida had picked a selection of the ornaments her daughter would wear; she was a very prominent fashionista.

There were 10 pieces of jewelry in her hand: a necklace of gold and ivory beads, a pair of emerald earrings, and 7 gold pins in the shape of butterfly wings.   
Melantriche sweated. Ornaments of metal and jewels were more for the elder women than they were for the latter, who preferred flowers and ribbons. If she arrived to Brauron with all 4, maybe it would make her look too flashy. Even more so, she felt it made her seem much older than she was. But she could not simply reject her mother's approach. Besides, she'd never worn real jewels before. It would be nice to see what they looked like on her. Perhaps they would make her prettier. 

Leida adorned Melantriche herself, expertly clasping the pins where they looked best. When she was finished, she pushed her daughter to the mirror. Melantriche found it hard to breathe. Forget what she thought about being too flashy; Mother was as much an artist as Lyra was! The earrings and the necklace matched her chiton perfectly. Monarchy had become a thing of the past, but at that moment she truly felt like a real princess. 

Leida gave a satisfied nod, her face loosening it's usual tightness for a moment, then quickly rewinded as she turned to face Lyra. 

"I want my hair styled too. It must be crimped and plaited. Quickly, before the ceremony." 

"Yes, My Lady." Lyra spoke softly, her eyes meeting the floor with an uncharacteristic meekness. Leida humphed, then made a loud march for the door. Lyra and the other slave girl followed quickly behind, leaving Melantriche alone. 

She barely had time to admire herself further before the door opened yet again, this time to reveal her father. He was a plump older man, soft and pleasant looking with rosy cheeks behind his chestnut beard. Melantriche's father, Lord Adrianis, was a righteous and kind man. He was noble and firm, treated his slaves kindly, and was totally obedient to the gods. He had hardly any concubines to entertain him, but then again, what beauty could match the beauty of Leida, his lovely wife? Only his daughter, whom he loved dearly. In the olden times of the Greeks, baby girls were not favorable and were often cast aside: sold away, uncared for or simply abandoned in jars at their birth, left out on a roadside for some other poor soul to find and take in, if the babe was lucky. That way, the neglectful parents would not earn the ire of the Furies. This was how the men treated their women, especially in Athens, where women had no rights, no education, and were mostly kept indoors. That was, until today.   
Melantriche could never have asked for a more wonderful father. She thanked the gods every day for him and his kind ways. 

Melantriche immediately stood and smiled at him, and he chortled cheerfully as they embraced. 

"Oh, how beautiful you look, my little Melantriche!" 

Melantriche's cheeks felt warm. "Thank you, Father." Adrianis had also took liberties to dress up. His usual attire had been replaced with a comfortable looking, yet well decorated red and blue robe, and he wore 2 thick amulets of gold around his neck. His beard had been combed and heavily perfumed; Melantriche could smell the crushed spices as she hugged him. Indeed, It seemed to gleam a slight red in the fading sunset.   
He was followed by yet another slave girl who brandished a wide wooden box in her arms. Melantriche could make a guess on what was inside of it. 

"Yes, my dear. You look so very beautiful, but you are still missing a piece." Adrianis said as he opened the box. As Melantriche suspected,   
her bearskin was folded inside. They had done a swell job of refurbishing it; it smelled sweet and had a boastful sheen to it, as if it were new. Adrianis pulled it gently by the corners. It fell from the box with an effortless grace, and before she knew it, Melantriche was draped as an arkteia. Her father fastened it around her lovingly. "Now," he spoke proudly, as he patted her around the head, "You truly look like a she-bear." 

Suddenly, he cringed back in mock fear. "Oh no! It's a bear! Gods, help me!" 

Melantriche giggled. Really, her father had no patience for the solemn. Instead of sitting through a dull council meeting, he would have rather been in the theater being entertained by a comedy. 

Adrianis sighed, exasperated. "Ah, but we've no time to waste! The ceremony shall be starting soon, and we must hurry." Leading his daughter by the hand, Adrianis made his way quickly through the hall and down the stairs to the front entrance, where both Leida and Lyra waited. Melantriche took time to observe that Lyra had done her job well yet again; her mother's hair looked superb tonight. Several guards waited outside to escort them, and Melantriche could see many people were headed in crowds towards the gate. The evening was coming close, and a small chill rippled suddenly through the warm air. A slave draped an extravagantly colorful peplos on her mother's shoulders, and she followed in suit of her father towards the carriage. 

"We shall be going now. Come now, hurry." 

Melantriche glances at Lyra, and she gave an excited, albeit tired grin. "Have fun! Do your best, Lady." 

With a deep breath of excitement, Melantriche tightened her bearskin around herself and stepped through the door.


	5. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.

The women of Athens marched in a neat legion across the wide fields. A single-file line of men walked alongside them, carrying torches. Only the men of upper class could escort the women to Brauron. The rest of the people waited in the city. After the ceremony, the women would return and there would be a great feast in honor of the occasion. Melantriche stared around her in utter fascination. Even if she had seen it before, it still amazed her every time. The only nature she'd ever known were the docile houseplants in the garden. Hers were freshly trimmed: vibrant green and exotic flowers. But all around her now was an entirely new world. The grass, which was tall and feral, tickled the girl's feet. Full grown clover and dandelions grew freely around her, and she could see large bloated forests beneath the hills she walked on. The new kind of wind blew outside of Athens, a wild one. It smelled almost sweet. There was so much space outside her home, outside the city, she had to deeply resist the urge to run out of formation. She wanted to run down the hills, into this wide open space that they called the world. When she looked around at her fellow women, they too seemed slightly awed by the new environment surrounding them. The men, however, didn't seem that impressed at all. It was to be expected, of course. They were used to being outside, and being accustomed to all kinds of freedom. The thought irked Melantriche more than she cared to admit. She wished she were born a man. But at the same time, if she had, she wouldn't be able to enjoy the pleasure of being present at Brauron! 

Every virgin in the troupe was dressed as an arkteis, though the quality of the costumes began to dwindle slowly at the back of the line. A majority of the lower class women could not afford bearskins. Instead, they used skins of other animals as substitute, and their chitons were of simple wool that was more of an ugly bleached yellow.   
Melantriche marched near the front of the line, a small pouch gripped tightly in her hand. Every woman had come to bear an offering to Artemis. There would be jewels, toys, and foods nestled in each woman's possession to offer her. The food would be taken to the altar, and the other accessories would be thrown in the sacred spring. For Melantriche, she would throw her offering in the spring. A small wooden doll occupied her bag. It was old and worn now, but it had once been a very precious treasure to her as a girl. Since she was approaching the age of marriage, she felt it was only fair that she pass it on to the goddess of children and virgins. Perhaps she would find a deep love for it, as Melantriche had.   
By the time they arrived to Brauron, the sun had already gone down behind the mountains. A silly thought came to Melantriche that the sun had set so soon because he also wanted to take part in the ceremony. She giggled to herself. The married women marched in the front. Leida was only 2 women above Melantriche, and she was easily noticeable by her tall stature. Melantriche took care to notice the tense frown on her face. She had the same expression at the last Brauronian Festival, 5 years back. She was surprised how she could remember such a detail, but then again. Leida's scowls were hard to forget. 

The walk to Brauron is approximately 45 minutes away from Athens. All the while to their destination, the women sang hymns and prayers to Artemis. Melantriche was never a good singer, so she instead sang a meek, quiet tune. Leida did not sing.   
It seemed like eons until they reached their destination. The summer air returned to being hot and stagnant, despite it being evening. Unfortunately for the men and the more common women, the mosquitoes were just beginning to come out, and the ceremony would last until midnight. Melantriche was happy she wouldn't have to stand outside. 

A strong hand suddenly touched her, and she turned around to see her father, who had 2 torches in his hand. She suddenly remembered that they had to light the temple braziers. Gratefully, she accepted the torch he held out to her. It was surprisingly heavy, and for some reason, she couldn't help but stare at the fire. It was warm and bright, contrasting greatly with its dark surroundings.   
Suddenly Melantriche felt aware of a pair of eyes poking her form. There was a man who stood near her father. He was clearly a very important man. He wore breathable, but very expensive robes, similar to her father's, except his were entirely blue. He was seemingly 30, and very handsome. He was strongly built, with a narrow jawline, and had golden hair and large brown eyes. And he was staring directly at her. There was something in his eyes that made Melantriche feel even hotter than the torch's heat. 

"Melantriche." She heard her mother's voice, which was somehow icier than usual. "Come, we must go."   
Melantriche was eager to follow her; the man's gaze made her extremely uncomfortable. 

The 3 old priestesses who lead the parade went in first, one of them having a heartily fat rooster in her arms. The high class women followed, Melantriche included. The temple was actually smaller than most, so only the noble women could go inside. Rather, they represented the lesser women who came with them. 

First was the sacrifice. To sacrifice a pig, chicken, or dog was symbolism for purification. Just as last year, they chose a chicken; the rooster that the priestess possessed. One priestess held it still over the altar as the other brandished a knife. The third chanted loudly. The rooster squawked and shrieked as they slit its neck open. Thick black juts of life spurted out if it's freshly open sinew. Chickens could run about even after their heads had been chopped of. It was not pretty. Melantriche cringed at the sight.   
When it came to sacrifice, you could not miss a step. Even one slip-up could ruin the entire ceremony. Melantriche couldn't help but be nervous as the dark blood dribbled down the side of the altar. The priestesses were experts, yes, but they were also old and senile. It was eternity before the rooster finally stilled. It was done. The chanting priestess shouted a loud prayer:

"Artemis! Goddess of the moon, virgins, and all wildlife! Fill us with your presence, your purity! Compel these women to chastity and protect them from the depraved hands of men! Great She-Bear! Have mercy on we, the chosen custodians of your house, who are only mere and foolish mortals!" 

The women were compelled to chant the words back. They did, and a sensation welled in Melantriche that was so strong she nearly cried. Perhaps it was pride, or the sense of being overwhelmed by the presence of a goddess, or perhaps a sick sense of foreboding dread. She knelt over herself, and tears in her eyes whispered,

"Great Gods, deliver me."


	6. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.

The rest of the ceremony went as planned. After the chanting, Melantriche went with the other women to light the braziers and burn incense. Melantriche was no longer between age 5 or 10, so she had to watch on the sidelines with her mother as the young arkteis danced. They were talented, and danced splendidly. This year, an older woman played on the diaulos instead of a small boy.   
Melantriche carried a lamp of burning incense with her. Though it was a nice aroma, it was thick and potent, and being so close to it made her feel slightly nauseous. She wished she were one of the girls who carried the fruit baskets. Unfortunately that role was reserved for younger girls as well. Even worse, this gave her plenty of time to absorb the sour mood of Leida, who was standing stiffly and had a frustrated look on her face. To be honest, Melantriche wanted nothing to do with it. Unhappy parents were no good for the mind to be around. Melantriche was especially afraid that if she so much as touched her mother she would explode, like a volcano. Nonetheless, her guilt as a daughter persuaded her to speak,

"Mother, what troubles you?" 

Leida did not respond at first, instead giving a humph. Embarrassed she ever asked, Melantriche stared away to her feet.   
5 minutes later, as the arkteis began to shed their clothes, Leida finally spoke, "I don't want to be here."  
Melantriche stared at her, shocked. She should've assumed this to be the case, but she couldn't bear for it to be true. After all, why wouldn't she want to be here? To have this little taste of freedom while she could, and being able to bask in the presence of a great goddess? She didn't dare ask, though, in case it might lure her mother to accidentally shout blasphemy in the temple. Instead she nodded in an understanding manner, focusing on the dance of the arkteis. 

Now that they were naked, the dance seemed almost... erotic, in a sense. The sickly sweet incense burning beneath her breast seemed to emphasize the dirty thought as she watched the girls on their hands and knees, sweating, swaying and arcing their bodies in remarkable ways. Melantriche held the incense lamp on one hand and used the other to slap herself. Really, why had she been thinking such things?! At a ceremony that celebrated purity, no less! These girls were for Artemis, and no one else, on this night at any rate! Dizzy, she prayed for forgiveness for the unchaste musings.   
Instead, she tried to think about how hard the girls had practiced to please the goddess. They must have worked hard, for not one of them missed a single step, nor wavered. Melantriche wondered if she had danced like that once. If she'd known how promiscuous it really looked, she'd have been so embarrassed she would've rather died.   
But on the other hand, the music was beautiful—not sensual at all—and everyone else seemed to be enjoying themselves, all making for a spectacular performance.   
Almost 30 minutes later—though it felt forever—the dance ended and the arkteis gathered themselves and their clothes up, making way for the back of the temple where they could wipe the sweat from their bodies. 

Now came the offerings. First the handmaidens came. They carried fruit baskets filled with figs, the local fruits. After they set their offerings on the altar, the women separated into 2 separated lines. One line, which was significantly longer than the other, would go to the sacred spring. The other would stay at the altar to give assortments of foods. Melantriche gave her lamp to another woman and followed suite to the longer line, with Leida sulking behind her. The spring was just outside the back of the temple. Melantriche had to wait a significant while till it was her turn to offer.   
Her attention wandered to the architectural mastery of the temple. It was relatively modest, but tasteful enough. She wondered if other temples were like this. She'd hardly ever seen any other temples; she had her own worshipping place in her home, where she honored Athena, the mistress of war strategy and the arts. The statue of Artemis, which Melantriche and the others passed while heading to the spring, was a lovely sight to behold. It was a human-sized likeness of Diana, with delicate features to match: long hair tied in a knot that was painted blonde, a youthful rosy face, and blue eyes. despite her feral clothes of a huntress. Melantriche thought that was what made her so beautiful; even though she wasn't dressed in expensive fabrics and jewels like the other Olympian goddess supposedly were, her comeliness shown through and glowed like the moon.   
Lost in her thoughts, Melantriche accidentally bumped into the woman in front of her, who gasped and had to steady herself; they were already at the edge of the spring. The woman turned to glare at Melantriche with cold hazel eyes before returning to prayer. Melantriche flushed, embarrassed, and murmured a silent apology. She hadn't realized she'd been thinking for so long. After a long minute, the woman tossed her pouch into the spring, and started past Melantriche in a rigid manner.   
Now it was her turn. She bowed reverently before the pool of cold water and began a prayer.   
"Great Artemis, Thank you for protecting me this year. I pray you will give us many more peaceful years to come. I'm so happy to have had this time to be with you."   
With that, she let the pouch fall from her small white fingers. It came down against the water with a loud plop, and began to float down the stream, swimming after the other offerings. All the while, Melantriche smiled gleefully to herself, seeing that her offering went smoothly without sinking. The deed had been done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trololololol Melantriche is gayyy. What even is Greek mythology without a little gay.


	7. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Greeks were very lenient in their ways. The only line they knew must not ever be crossed was to clash with the Gods, who are prideful in every way known to man. The tale of Queen Niobe should’ve been adequate proof of that. But the Gods also crave love, and they share man’s desire to own beautiful things. That is probably why Melantriche found herself in her current predicament.

The women resumed a parade-like position as they left the temple. Outside, the custodians who were sweaty and bug-bitten, looked relieved as they saw the women coming towards them. It'd been a full hour and a half since the procession had started. Together, they all said a prayer for thanks and protection for the journey home. On the way back, Leida stormed ahead towards the front line. She seemed more than eager to finally get home, though Melantriche still had no idea why. She hoped it was for some other reason other than the one she was suspecting. She looked around slowly, hoping to see her father somewhere, but in the darkness of the troupe, lit only by a few torches, she could not tell her which man was her father. In the dark, she felt lost. She'd heard of thieves who waited on the side of roads to catch their prey. Maybe she'd gotten lost so that the people walking around her weren't really her companions, but thieves in disguise. The thought  was a little foolish, but it made her very nervous; the crowd was so large they probably wouldn't notice if someone were missing. Maybe her mother was wanting to get home quickly because of that reason. 

After a while, when Athens was an array of small lights plainly seen across the fields, the thick mass of clouds above parted slightly to let a bright pool of silver light slip through. The people around Melantriche looked up in awe. The moon was full tonight, and very beautiful. A hushed whisper went through the crowd, and Melantriche heard a familiar voice a few people away to her right,

"Artemis is pleased with us." Adrianis said, beaming through his auburn beard. "’‘Tis obviously a sign. Come, we must hurry home as she lights our way."   
The people murmured in agreement, and as they resumed their march, the pace was relatively quicker than before. The people no longer walked in silence. An air of good cheer and merriment filled the atmosphere, and as others broke out in chipper conversation, Melantriche's former worries dwindled away.

The gatekeepers watched for the troupe continuously over the hours. When they saw them coming near, the gate was lifted almost immediately. Another hundred dozen of people were there to greet their daughters and wives as they returned. A loud echo of cheer went up as families were reunited. Then Melantriche felt her father's hand on her shoulder, and her mother stood in tow. The handsome blond man stood near them, as for a group of other men, some of them young and some old. Melantriche almost forgot that on the night of the ceremony, they planned to celebrate it by holding a feast in their home. Members of the council, their brothers and their sons were eligible to attend. Although, Melantriche wasn't very sure as what to think of the idea now, now that she knew the blond man would be near her all night. She became anxious as she noticed the way he was staring intently at her. Her face growing hot, she turned the other way so as to pretend to watch the other people bustling around her in celebration. 

Some people had begun dancing in the street. Some threw flowers and seeds everywhere in celebration. Loud singing erupted from random places in the masses. With wise Athena and brave Artemis watching of them, everyone would very festive tonight. 

"Come, everyone, to my home." Adrianis called through the loud babble of the people, clapping his large hands. "We will celebrate this most auspicious occasion throughout the night to come!"  
With goads of happy consensus, the men followed Adrianis and his guard to the direction of their home. Melantriche kept close to her father, so as not to get lost or confronted by the blond man.   
Reluctant as she walked, she spared a glance toward the gate. The festival was over. Another year till she would finally go outside again. The idea was almost too hard to bear. Her grip subconsciously tightening, she turned her gaze towards her front and walked as stiffly and proudly as she could, not allowing what she was feeling to show in any way. 

It wouldn't do any good anyway.


	8. Chapter 8

Father had really outdone himself this time.

The moment his posse had stepped through the door, they were shown the utmost hospitality. Slaves, with their garments freshly pressed, came forward to wash their feet with expensive oils and perfume that one would use to embalm the member of royalty. The dining room was inlayed with the newest and most colorful mattresses, sofas, and cushions that money could buy, was already set waiting for them, with 2 slave musicians and 5 beautiful dancers. The guests were compelled to feast on the finest delicacies: oysters, crabs, rare marinated fishes, ripe grapes and figs, fluffy pitas, honeyed wines, roasted lamb and, of course, venison—on account of Artemis. The event itself was indeed very rich and extravagant, but then again. Melantriche's father could afford to be lavish. Perhaps this feast was actually a ploy to get into the other council men's good books. 

At their arrival, Lyra appeared almost out of nowhere at Melantriche's side, ready to assist her out of her costume and to the dining room. The moment Melantriche was seated, Lyra bowed and rushed off to join the others in the kitchen to cook up more portions of supper. Melantriche sighed, a desolate feeling washing over her. She should've been happy to have been surrounded by riches, and pleased with herself for having done her duties for Artemis. But the fact that she would not be able to set foot outside again for another year made her feel so melancholy.   
Lyra was probably dying to know what happened at Brauron. She was once from a small city near Olympia, where women could walk about freely. She must've missed that, Melantriche knew, and she would've been very happy to ply the woman with the details, but she already left. Leida sat on Melantriche's left side, looking very displeased as ever. With such a frightening look on her face, Melantriche didn't dare make any conversation with her other than,   
"Mother, you look unwell. Perhaps you'd like to turn in early tonight?" 

"I'm fine." Leida snapped, and that was the end of it. 

And Melantriche was hardly ever around men, yet here she was, suddenly having a feast between a considerable number of them. To be in such a position was considered the highest honor for a woman, yet she couldn't help but feel very rigid and self conscious. Currently, she was feeling especially fidgety, since she still felt the blond man's eyes on her. He watched her intensely from the sofa on the other side of the room, not the least abashed to display all his desires in a single state. Melantriche couldn't bear to even look at him. His gaze was enough to make her face run like a pot of molten iron.   
And he wasn't the only one eyeing her. There was not a man in the room that hadn't acknowledged her with an admiring word.

"What a beautiful child you have, Adrianis." An old man crooned as he gazed admiringly at her. At this, Melantriche felt pleasantly bashful, for she could tell by his gaze that he was also a kind and pleasant grandfather of a man. He was small, tubby and wrinkled, with a long white beard braided into triplets, and he had warm brown eyes.   
Adrianis was reclined at the foot of the table, holding a goblet of freshly poured wine. He swayed slightly on his forearm as he grinned, a pleasant red coloring his cheeks.  
"Right you are, Philipeis! My pride and joy, little Melantriche is!" 

"I can see why," another piped up from his portion of fish, "but tell us, Adrianis, who've you planned of marrying her off to?"

"I.. haven't thought of whom." 

"Ah." An array of eyes lit up in the room, telling of endless plots and deeds. Reading every single one of them, Melantriche's stomach roiled. She stood immediately.

"Daughter," Adrianis called, looking concerned through his tipsiness. "Wherever are you going?"

"I am fine, Father." Melantriche echoed back, smiling weakly. "I'm just going out for fresh air." 

Dizzily, she stumbled out into the hall, wanting out of public sight as soon as possible. As she wandered towards the courtyard, she wrung her hands anxiously. Perhaps they were hoping to have her father marry her off to one of their sons, or maybe even plot to have her for themselves. It would be the perfect opportunity for her father to gain ultimate ties with one of the other councilmen. If he offered his daughter, he could have any pick of alliances he desired. But he'd never do that... 

She stared between pillars out to the garden. The flowers looked especially beautiful in the moonlight. A cool breeze swept through the yard, soothing Melantriche's red cheeks. She took a deep breath and took it all in. If she acknowledged the fact that she may be leaving here soon, then it all looked surreally beautiful.   
She raised her hands to the top of her head and sighed again. Maybe now that she was out of sight, she could sneak off to see Lyra. She barely took another step before she heard him. Whirling around, she turned to come face to face with the blond man. He was only about 10 feet away from her, staring unsettlingly at her. Melantriche's stomach spun and churned. 

"My lord," she uttered under shuttering breath. "Whatever are you doing out here?" 

"I was in the mood for a stroll, I suppose." He spoke coolly, "I happened to be walking by." 

That's a lie. 

"But whatever of you, my Lady? You've been outside for a while now." 

Melantriche felt the surface of a smooth cool pillar against her palm, held behind her back. "I don't like crowds," she murmured, "I'm used to being alone." 

"That's a shame," he echoed back as he stepped closer, "for a creature as lovely as you, to never be allowed to put her fullness on display, a shame indeed..." 

"Please, my Lord. Don't come any closer."

"Whyever not?"

"Because I'm afraid," Melantriche said bluntly as she shuffled backwards against the pillar. "You are frightening me."

The man chuckled, amused. The sound chilled Melantriche's spine. "I am intimidating to most, but you've nothing to fear. I merely wish to come to you with my open feelings." 

"Open feelings?"

"Yes, Lady Melantriche." The man spoke boldly, his eyes alit with fire. His voice was no longer cool, but with a passionate burning. "I must tell you that I am deeply in love with you. I fell in love with you at first sight tonight, and I swear to you now that I'll go to the Underworld and back just to vie for your hand." 

She knew it. She stared down at herself, and could've sworn that her chest was visibly pulsing. Her heart was beating so hard! But her face, somehow, felt cold instead of hot. Melantriche smiled blankly.   
"We should return. Everyone will be wondering where we are."

"What does it matter? Don't you feel the same?" 

"What is your name, My Lord?" 

"Belenis, son of Bemus, the third councilman, and commander of the seventh Athenian naval fleet. When I go out to war, my heart will be strong, because you will be in it. I will dedicate the rest of my life to protecting you and this city. With me, you'll want for nothing for the rest of your days." 

"Perhaps I will love you, perhaps I won't." She spoke softly, "Either way, you've promised you'd go through hell and back just for me."

She slipped past him and smiled again, and ignored his stare, bemused but determined. He would not easily be shaken off; by the looks of it, Commander Belenis enjoyed a challenge.

Well, she'd see about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belenis is a hoe. Fuck him.


	9. Chapter 9

It wasn't very often women could stay around for feasts. Their place was in the women's quarters while the men partied below to their hearts content. This festival of women had been the brief exception of course, but Melantriche was just too tired to throw around her rights as a woman now. Like said, she was never one for crowds. And so as soon as she'd successfully sated Belenis in his intentions to escort her back to her room, she faceplanted eagerly into her bed. She sighed deeply. 

What a day. First the festival, then a party, and even a proposal thrown in. She'd never been wooed before, unless being complimented by raunchy old councilmen counted as wooing. Belenis, on the other hand, seemed like a very prime specimen: strong, brave, handsome and well-off. And he was interested in her, in love with her even. In a way, Melantriche was honored, and just as pleased with herself for catching a fine bass in this great sea of men, but she was unsure. She didn't dislike Belenis, no, but she wasn't in love with him. Even so, what could she do? If Belenis approached her father, which she was sure he would, then Adrianis would most likely be very pleased with the arrangement. Melantriche tried to imagine herself being swept off in a chariot down the street, swathed in flowers and veils, being followed by maidens singing praises of good will as they tossed handfuls of petals and rice behind them. The idea was so foreign, so surreal to Melantriche that she had to stop herself from thinking anymore of it. This house of Adrianis the councilman has been her fortress her entire life. Festivals and marriages had been one thing, merely short outings that stole only for a day, but to leave this place forever?

Melantriche's head throbbed. She wished she'd could just fall asleep there and then, but there were errands to be done. After a long minute she stood up again lazily, walked across the room, grabbed a towel and soaked it in the basin. Wringing it out thoroughly, she started to wipe her face. Wearing makeup, she realized now, was somewhat uncomfortable if prolonged for a long period of time. And besides, with how muggy it'd been, she'd been repeatedly worried that it was running. But now it seemed more eager to cling to her face now that she was trying to take it off. With great effort, she scrubbed with her nails bared through the thin cloth, which after about 10 minutes seemed to do the trick, but also left her face raw from the rough treatment. She frowned as she stared into the mirror but then shrugged. Oh well. It wasn't as if there was another tomorrow to show off her face. With 1 swift and incautious motion, she shrugged her chiton over her head and tossed it onto the table. Someone would fold it tomorrow. But she handled the jewelry carefully; her mother was exceedingly frightening when in a rage, and Melantriche was in no mood to be disciplined for breaking some measly pins. They came out surprisingly easy, emphasis on "surprisingly" because her hair was one that tangled easily. And with the pins came the braids, uncurling themselves like magic around her shoulders. It was the earrings that she had to worried about. She fumbled with one of them, which for a brief moment got caught in her ear. She flinched at the sharp prick to her earlobe. She pulled the earring off and scowled at it. The studded emerald winked up at her in the candlelight, as if to mock her. For a moment she truly thought she saw a face reflected it, flashing a teasing grin. Resisting the urge to throw the damn thing, she gripped it in a small fist before setting it down on her chiton. An eye caught her mirror, and she ended up settling her gaze on it against her will. She never liked her reflection, never would. But something about how she looked made her stop and stare. She was naked and just a moment she'd been tressed up in finery. One day she'd look at herself like this in the mirror yet again. Belenis would be standing beside her then. She shivered as she imagined him leering over her as he'd done today when their eyes first met. Would that necessarily be a bad thing? 

A sound made her break contact with the mirror. It was faint and far away, but loud enough to break the silence. Her ears might have been deceived, but she thought it might've been a woman screaming. Not urgently, but as if in rage. It'd been a disturbing sound, enough to make Melantriche's heart quiver and her skin shrivel. It must've been a kitchen servant berating another for some reason or other. She could think of no other reason. But now that her ears were perked, she could hear more voices. They were in exclamation, and terribly muffled, but Melantriche could tell there was arguing. She edged to her door and became deathly still. She listened. Indeed, something strange was happening down below. Had one of the slave women enraged the guests?

Silently, Melantriche crept away from the door. This sounded like something she wanted no part of, and she had enough weighing down on her mind as it was. Maybe tomorrow all of her worries would blow away, and she would ask Lyra about the occurrence downstairs. For now, she'd sleep. She swept the sheets aside carefully, so that they'd be arranged smoothly and with nary a crease when she crawled into them. As she snuggled beneath her freshly-washed covers, she sighed yet again. Today had indeed been a happy occasion, but it had awakened the feeling of responsibility within her. She knew that one day she would leave this house on the arm of a rich man. Even still, Melantriche didn't know if she could fulfill his expectations of a lover or wife. She definitely wasn't assertive like her mother, nor could she say that she was bubbly and cheerful like her father. Hades, she wasn't even strong like Lyra. Now thinking about it, what kind of person was she, even? How did others see her? If someone thought of "Melantriche" what would be the first thing to come to their minds?

Boring, no doubt. 

She'd leave this house one day. Soon, most likely. 

 

She just had no idea how soon it would be.


	10. Chapter 10

Melantriche woke startled. For a split second she thought she'd been tumbling from the sky, but now she was caught within the tangles of a fishing net. 

...wait, no. It wasn't a net, but a blanket. And there was no fisherman staring down at her, but Lyra. She was fuzzy at first, and not easily seen without the sun to clarify her features. She was inches close to Melantriche's face, studying her with bewilderment and concern in her eyes. It took a moment for Melantriche to process the presence of another person being so close to her, and then she jerked in surprise. 

"L-Lyra?"

"You're naked." The woman commented in an as-a-matter-of-fact voice. "You were talking in your sleep, too." 

Melantriche blinked. "You watched me as I slept?"

"Only for a little while." Lyra flushed and sat back on the stool she'd set at the edge of the bed. "I was worried, you see."

"What for?" 

Lyra stood up and turned away as she went to fetch a new chiton for Melantriche to wear. She said nothing for a brief moment before saying, "No reason." 

There was hesitation in her words, Melantriche knew. She ached to get the truth out of her, but not now. It was too early in the morning to prod now. She fell back into the sheets, mumbling nothing in particular. Lyra returned shortly from the back of the room with a long white robe in hand. 

"But what about you?" Lyra inquires teasingly. "Hm, Lady? You went to bed without clothes? You know I heard from someone that that handsome Lord Belenis escorted you to your quarters last night."

Melantriche pulled the covers over her shoulders and flushed. "What are you insinuating, Lyra?" 

"Oh, nothing." She giggled, gently pulling back the sheets, and out popped Melantriche's red face, scowling. "Forgive me, Lady. I was only teasing."

"Yes, I'm sure." Melantriche grumbled as she crawled out of bed. She stretched and ignored the incoming chill from suddenly being out from underneath warm layers. Mornings in Athens were chilly, especially now that the harvest season was almost over. And now that she was actually processing her surroundings, she saw that it didn't look like morning at all. There was hardly any sun outside, for thick masses of gray cloud were obscuring it. Verily, it looked ready to storm soon. Melantriche stared at the outside through the tiny window. The laundry would most likely not get done today. Lazily, she held up her arms and waited for Lyra to slip the robe around her. With a few twists and pins the robe was magically wrapped into a chiton. Melantriche rubbed her bare arms, but she didn't ask for a wrap, the wraps were too flashy and Melantriche enjoyed being dressed in simple things, so that they wouldn't hinder her weaving. Mother would disapprove, as always, but Melantriche no longer cared to listen to her when it came to what you should wear and what you shouldn't wear. After all, who would be around to appreciate her when dressed in finery? The slaves? 

"But, if I may ask, why didn't you put on your nightclothes?"

"I wasn't up to it." Melantriche yawned, "I was tired and it was a long day."

"Oh, I see." Lyra stood up and wiped some sweat from her brow. "But nakedness besides, shall we go down to meet the others?"

Melantriche nodded. Tapestries weren't going to weave themselves. 

———

Breakfast was simple: Some freshly baked pita bread dipped in watered wine and honey. In the gynaeceum, everything seemed so mundane yet pleasant. The women of the house, both free and slave, seemed equal here. They gossiped and joked as they spun wool and wove fine cloth as little children ran around squealing with excitement in their games. In the gynaeceum, nothing ever seemed troubling. It was peaceful, simple, and Melantriche liked it that way. Today, however, was different. When Lyra and Melantriche walked through the door, the usual buzz suddenly hushed, as if a great wind had interrupted it the way it interrupted the wheat sheaves in the fields. Everyone in the room, save for most of the children, stared at their young Lady with great anticipation. Whatever it was, Melantriche didn't take kindly to it. She shivered in her chiton as she felt the eyes of many on her. What in the..?  
Lyra coughed loudly, and the tension snapped just like that. The women resumed their work and Melantriche could finally breathe easily. Well, almost easily. When she stared up at Lyra, she saw a flash of nervousness in her eyes, which made her all the more suspicious. In a moment she'd ask her what all the hullabaloo was about, but for now she scanned the room, searching for her loom. She found it set leaning against the far wall corner, right beside a clear space on a sofa. Perfect. Melantriche poked Lyra and pointed to the spot. 

"We'll sit there." Lyra nodded in agreement and so they went to settle down there. Melantriche set the loom in front of her. The tapestry was still set in it just as it was the day before yesterday. A spindle of red wool thread was stuck to its side. Melantriche pulled it out carefully and asked Lyra for a blue one. As she put in onto the spindle, she scanned the room once again. A frown crossed her face. 

"Lyra, where's my mother?"

Lyra was also working on her own needlework, another patch of white wool for one of the new babies coming in.

"Oh, the Mistress?" Lyra paused, as if to try and find the right word. "She's not feeling well today, so she is staying in bed." 

Melantriche stared. Mother, ill? She'd never been ill before. At least, never ill enough to not be able to supervise the servants. A feeling of foreboding filled her. 

"You didn't tell me she was ill."

"Forgive me. I forgot to say so."

"I should go visit her, then." 

"I don't think you should." 

Annoyance welled within Melantriche. Lyra was being abnormally prone to equivocating today. Not to mention everyone else's strange behavior. What was she hiding? "Why shouldn't I? She's my mother."

"Oh, don't misread me, Lady. It's just that she doesn't want anyone to visit her right now. She said so herself."

"To you?"

"To all of us. She gave us that announcement early this morning and left. I tell you, though, it was odd." 

Certainly. Melantriche mulled this over as she straightened out her thread, and the thoughts of her mother's attitude from the previous night lit up within her. Surely... 

"Has this anything to do with last night?"

Lyra's hands stopped working for a split second. "Last night? What about last night?"

"I heard something happening downstairs last night. You were down in the kitchen, so I know that you know what happened. Was it an argument?" 

A long pause. Lyra took out her messed up threads before replacing them with new ones. "No, Lady. It wasn't an argument."

"Tell me then." Melantriche pressed, scooting closer. She was going to get the truth out of Lyra whether she liked it or not. "I want to know about it."

"There was a break-in, you see. They didn't find any perpetrators, but one of the walls had been smashed through. Some of our ingredients we were saving for the feast were gone. You mother, the Mistress Leida, she had much to drink, and when she found there was a hole she swooned. And I became worried because we saw that you weren't at the feast, so..."

"That's why you were watching me this morning?"

"Yes."

"And that's why everyone acted strangely when they saw me?"

"Yes."

Melantriche processed all of this. A break-in? The walls weren't very strong, so the thieves could've gotten in relatively easy if they found the right spot to smash. But that also made no sense because the moon had been shining very bright then. It would've made things very hard for the thieves, and even more impossible considering that the house was far from empty. Perhaps they'd been trying to perpetrate their misdeeds while everyone was busy? It was strange, hardly made any sense, but Lyra never told a lie, and she seemed very sincere about it, so...

Melantriche shook her head. She was probably overthinking all of this. But she still wasn't at all convinced. If Lyra didn't want to be pressed any longer, then fine. But she would find out sooner or later what all of this was about. 

Lyra quickly changed the subject before Melantriche could. "But enough of that. You were talking in your sleep this morning, you know."

Oh, that was right. Her dream. But she didn't remember having a dream at all. 

"What was I saying?"

"I don't know. You were muffling your words. But it sounded scary. Was it a nightmare?"  
Melantriche wracked her brain to remember. She couldn't recall anything, except for the fact that she'd woken very suddenly. And before that...

"I don't remember."


	11. Chapter 11

These slaves were even more hard-headed than a cannonball. For the past month, Melantriche had been doing her best to get any details out of them. But what they told her was all the same as Lyra's story: Thieves came and brought ruckus to the party. The story in itself was positively ridiculous to Melantriche, so she persisted in pestering them in any way she could: bribery, threats, anything. But still their lips remained shut. Perhaps that was because they knew that she couldn't hurt a fly even if she wanted to. And besides, Lord Adrianis treated them well, so what reason could they have to want to buy their freedom? Not even Leida's emerald earrings, which apparently were Melantriche's now, could get their eyes to twinkle. Blast it all!

And during all of this, Leida stayed in her room, not once coming out, not even to bathe or eat. Melantriche could not visit her, for a guard had been stationed at the door to prevent unwanted visitors. Leida would not agree to see anyone, not even her daughter. For a while, Melantriche was terribly worried until she saw that her mother's favorite slave, Giulia, a young Anatolian blonde was bringing her meals and even managed to sneak a small wooden tub into her room without anyone noticing. Only she was allowed inside, which peeved Melantriche off to no end. Not only that, but the sky had remained completely dark and gray, ever since the day prior to the festival, at first Melantriche payed no mind to it, until she realized that the slaves were gossiping about that subject too. 

"They say Lord Apollo is angry." Lyra said quietly as they spun wool together in the dark room. The gynaeceum did not have windows, curtesy of men who thought it improper for women to be seen in public. As such, they had to light candles to work, despite it being early in the afternoon. The women whispered in hushed voices so as to match the atmosphere they were in.

"I wonder why he could be."

"As do I." Lyra finished spinning a long strip of wool and bundled it around a thick spool. Melantriche cleaned the wool lumps from the wicker basket with a course brush and gave her another strip. "The moon isn't shining at night either. It's very worrisome." 

"Do you think someone has angered them? The gods, I mean?" 

"I truly hope not." Lyra said quietly. "I hope all these worries blow away, and that we can live our lives peacefully again." 

It did not get better. If anything it had become worse. Without the sun and moon shining, Athens was concealed in perpetual darkness. The crops were starting to wither, and thieves had become very prominent as of late. The clouds that obscured Phoebus' chariot never went away. It never rained, they clouds just stayed there, not even moving or changing shapes. Now Melantriche was absolutely sure that the gods were indeed mad. And the fact that her household was being stooped in secrecy did not help this fact at all. She prayed to Zeus that none of this had anything to do with them, but for the twilight to begin just after the incident... 

She'd not seen Father since then. It was very small glimpses of him that she had to make due with, of him hurrying down the hall or rushing out the door. This was upsetting, seeing as though he'd always tried to make time to see her. Athens has been living peacefully, and so he'd always had time to spare. But ever since the incident he'd also been gone from Melantriche's life, always being summoned to meetings and such. And Lyra was just as secretive as ever. There had never been a time when Melantriche felt more alone. She felt it was imperative to find out the truth of these events, so that at least she wouldn't be lost in the dark, as if that would save her family. But it could not, and that was probably why everyone had kept her secluded from the family issues, because she could do nothing about it but worry and there was no point in worrying about anything. Even so, she had a strong sense of dread that all of these occurrences had involved her and so she just had to find out. But what was there to find out, with everyone's mouths sealed shut? After several weeks her resolve to unravel the mysteries of the incident had weakened sufficiently, and she had found very little information, other than that of all things that Lyra had fibbed about, she had been right in saying that Leida had become bed-ridden. But Melantriche knew the reason was not because of bandits, because she had searched the entire house when no one had been looking, and she'd found no hole in any wall. She had concluded that the most logical place for there to be a hole would have been somewhere in the cellar room. In there, there was no remnant of hole, not any specific mark that showed there'd been damage done. Lyra had lied, obviously. But why? If her mother hadn't become ill out of worry, then what? Melantriche remembered her mother's sour attitude during the festival and shivered. Surely for not for that reason? But what other reason? She couldn't find any. 

Another month had passed. The sky remained dark. Leida remained bedridden. Adrianis was gone. Lyra continued to lie. Melantriche had given up. The town was in shambles. The people were starving.

The clouds just stayed.

And stayed.

And stayed.


	12. Chapter 12

She was floating in blackness. Normally she wouldn't be alarmed; she rarely had real dreams. What bothered her most was that this was a real dream. She saw her own body and her hands in front of her. Against her was a cold harsh wind that seemed to prick through her skin like ice. Despite this, it was hard to find breath. After a while she realized that she wasn't floating, but flying. Flying through some kind of cavern or tunnel or other. She shivered and tried to raise her arms to shield herself from the cold, but the wind was so strong it prevented her from so much as twitching. She was powerless against it, like a leaf in the storm. Her limbs were heavy and her head was made of lead, yet the current was billowing her from falling as if she weighed no less than a small bird. The only thing she could do at that moment was shut her eyes tightly. 

It's no exaggeration when she thought it had been years. It truly had felt like it; years, eons before the wind in her face stopped abruptly. She felt a deep dread in her heart, as if something ominous were about to happen, and so she took her time adjusting to the sudden change in atmosphere and what it had done to her. She flexed her fingers, which were stiff and aching, as well as the rest of her body, which was numb from the ice cold, but she had not the strength to even shiver anymore. Slowly, she peeled her eye open, and was stunned to find that she was no longer submitted to darkness. Floating around her was the entire cosmos, swirling bits of shining debris, diamonds, glittered in different shades of red, blue, green, against the backdrop of blackness that went on for eons, across even time itself. Melantriche cracked her rigid neck so that she could look around herself. Giant globes spun languidly on one finger. Some were much bigger than others. Some were blue and some were brown and some where orange. Some of them had enormous rings encircling their persons in a grand manner.

A wisp to her neck, and she was turned upward. She saw a woman... no, a girl, a tiny girl that must've been at least a year or 2 younger than herself, walking among the milky way. She was painfully beautiful. Skinniness was not often a very complimenting feature, but this maiden made it work. She was a small, slim little thing, as delicate as a sparrow and clad in a simple short chiton. Her skin, flawless and white, glowing like a star. Her long silver hair was tied in a hunter's knot, and her face was that of a guileless young child: plump rosy cheeks, thick brows, and large eyes of stunning sapphire blue. At once, Melantriche knew that she was most definitely a goddess. The only thing ugly about her was her expression, which was an apathetic one, but in her eyes gleamed something sharp and silver and cold, like a dagger to Melantriche's heart. Cruelty, it was. The sharpness of her gaze was burning into her, icy cold biting into her delicate white skin. When Melantriche finally managed to tear her awed and frightened gaze away from the girl, she looked down and almost screamed. 

Thick sheets of frost grew rapidly upon her skin, shattering and exposing raw, red flesh. Her skin, her fingernails, her nipples, coated in ice, were flaking off and floating away from her, evading her grasp when she reached out to grab them. Her fingers became death-gray and broke off from frostbite, and her blood became blue and cold. 

"No!" she wanted to shriek. All the while, the goddess watched her as if it were a play, a ghost of a wicked, savage smile playing on her lips. In that sense, she looked just as barbaric and wild as a wolf. 

A voice, soft and sweet yet monotonous, spoke in Melantriche's ears, "Do you see what happens now?Shoot for the stars and your fickle little mortal body will shrivel up and die." The voice taunted her, bouncing around like a loud mantra inside her skull, torturing her. 

Finally she found her voice. She screamed as she fell, but as she saw Lyra's face through the black hole, she realized she was flying upward. From a bed. Her bed.

She struggled out of the sheets for a moment, thrashing wildly. 

"Lyra! Lyra..." 

She fell into the woman's arms, and they embraced her, patting her back and shushing her as she wept, terrified, unable to speak. 

"Oh, Lyra! I had an awful, awful dream just now! It was..." Something wispy tickled Melantriche's face, a strangely sweet fragrance filling her nose. Perfume? She sat up. 

And then she saw Lyra. She donned an expensive saffron chiton. She was swathed from head to toe in veils, revealing only her face, heavily ladened in white lead, hiding her blemishes and freckles. Upon further inspection, her hair had been dyed pitch black and tied in an extravagant manner. Melantriche stared in awe. What in the...

"Lyra," she spoke slowly, softly," Why are you all... so..."

Lyra's grim face formed into a forced-looking smile. 

"Melantriche, My Lady... we have to get going now."


	13. Chapter 13

Never before had she been so scared, so confused. A group of people surrounded her, most of them with familiar faces: Lyra, her father's 5 most closest guards, the old slave woman who baked pitas in the kitchen, and, of course, her mother and father. All of their faces were grim as they sped-walked across the city, but mostly, she saw, her mother. Leida had not been seen since the festival, and now that Melantriche was really seeing her for the first time in forever, she was appalled. This woman had once been beautiful, proud in both stature and mind. Now she looked exhausted and old. Like the aging peasant women that worked in the fields, her dull, miserable eyes were sunken in and dark. Wrinkles made themselves known across her cheeks, and she slouched noticeably. No matter how much Melantriche pestered her, she remained dead-looking, silent as a shade. All the while, Adrianis bickered to himself. 

"My child! Of all people," he mourned softly to himself. "A drought, they said! Dying cattle? Oh, how could this have happened...?" 

"Father?" Melantriche called out cautiously, "What are you talking about? What's going on? Father!"

"Hush, child!" Lyra scolded her in a hushed voice. "Don't make much sound, don't even breathe, lest we get caught." 

"Caught? By whom?" Melantriche demanded. "What's happening? I'm getting scared, Lyra, tell me what's going on! I command you!" 

"Oh, Lady." Lyra smiled pitifully at her through her veil, and Melantriche swore she saw her eyes shining with tears. "Oh, my sweet, sweet, Lady. You'll be told everything, that I promise you. But for now, please just be quiet, just for now..." 

One of the guards looked towards Lyra. Through the slits in his helmet, Melantriche saw spitefulness, as if he wanted to hit her. Understandable to him, she supposed. How dare a slave order her master around in such a way? But still, he did nothing but march forward as he had been doing. Silently, Melantriche itched at the scratchy new peasant clothes Lyra made her wear as she did the same. 

No one was out at this time, because it was most likely very, very early in the morning. In the quiet darkness, made alive by only the sound of crickets in song, a single torch led the way, for the moon, like so many nights prior, stayed hidden. Like the way that the Greeks moved silently through inner Troy, a swift and malevolent fog, so did their little group move to the gate. 2 guards had been stationed there for the night shift, but when they saw them coming, they nodded to each other and cranked the gate open. With a handful gesture, they were led outside. 

The walk was long. Judging by the familiar directions, they were traveling to Brauron Temple again. Though it was a summer night, it was terribly chilly, and a strong wind was beginning to blow. Like Melantriche's optimism, her hopes, the torch light flickered and waned, less likely to stay strong by the second. As they walked, Melantriche evaluated the past occurrences. When she woke, Lyra had been wearing rich clothes... her clothes. Wait, no, those weren't her clothes, they were Leida's clothes. Lyra's physique, which was tall, lanky, and strong, was more to Leida's likeness than Melantriche's. However, Melantriche was hardly awake when Lyra hurriedly pulled her own clothes over Melantriche's tired, perplexed head and sped her out of her room, where a guard awaited them. He escorted them down to the courtyard, where the rest of the troupe awaited them. Melantriche stared at them all, baffled. The entire house was dark, so why was everyone getting ready to go somewhere? When it was night? She received no explanation as they left. Melantriche mulled this over. This must've had something to do with the past occurrences that she had been investigating, but how? She had been right when suspecting that Lyra had been holding something back from her, and a part of her was angry. Why had everyone been in the know except for her? Just because she was young, and a girl, she should be left in the dark about such important things? She knew now, for sure, that this incident involved her in some way, and that was why they kept it from her. 

Regardless, home was getting farther and farther away in the distance, leaving only Melantriche and her thoughts. 

Dread. Although Zephyrus rippled slyly through her shawl, thick hot dread slid down her back, causing droplets of sweat to pop from her neck. 

So lost in her thoughts she was that she bumped soundly into Lyra, who had stopped abruptly in front of her. She stumbled for a moment, straightened herself, and looked up. So it was Brauron after all. The temple stood tall, dark, and ever so imposing in the dead of night. Melantriche felt her heart fall from her chest to her stomach. She felt woozy, but there was no time to faint, for she was already being ushered inside. The shadows danced upon the pillars as they hurried into the great hall. 

"There's not much time, Lady, so listen closely," Lyra whispered, "but, oh, where to start..."

"Where to start?" Adrianis chortled bitterly, "Where to start?! Step aside, you damned goat of a fool-woman, and let me explain if you're too incompetent to do so yourself!"

Melantriche gaped, a pang of hurt sounding in her breast, as if he'd insulted her instead. Never had she heard her father be so harsh, so shrill. Another wave of terror hit her when he pushed Lyra aside and rushed into her face, tears welling down his own. 

"My child, my sweet Melantriche. You have incurred the wrath of the gods."

The world was crashing down around her numb head. Melantriche was not stupid. She saw the evidence around her, and suspected, but oh, how she wished it wasn't true!

"What.. H... How..?" Was all that could escape from her throat. 

"How? How, the child asks?" Adrianis moaned. He looked ready to swoon. "Well, why don't you ask the woman there?" He crooked an accusing finger at Leida, who, with an apathetic face and eyes full of pain, said nothing and endured her husband's scorn. "You were my pride and joy, and hers too, I knew that well! But, oh, to put you even above the Great She-Bear herself..! Oh woo..." 

"What?!"

Adrianis could not go on. As emotional a foolish man he was, he stumbled back and wept both his fair share and Leida's. That, she supposed, was Lyra's cue. She stepped forward silently.

"She said.. she said that you were better than Artemis... better in every way. In beauty, in personality... and um," The woman wrung her hands as she tried to find better words. "We begged her not to say such things, but she didn't—couldn't listen. Her Lady Leida was, erm, intoxicated." 

It was all coming together now. The realization dawned on Melantriche now. 

"The feast," she whispered hoarsely. Lyra nodded. 

"Yes, I did lie to you. There were no thieves, only a drunken woman. We thought that we might be spared divine wrath because of that, but there has been an unending drought since then. The sun does not shine, the rain doesn't come, and the moon has not come out. Not even a glimmer. And the livestock are dying.  
"The Council was at the feast, too, you remember. They've been calling meetings ever since to find the root of the problem. Why we have occurred the the wrath of the gods. They knew at once it was you."

All of this truth, coming down on Melantriche's head. She felt as if a giant sack of flour had been dropped on top of her. Her? The object of the gods' spite? Of Artemis' spite? And her beloved brother, Apollo too? It was all too much. She didn't realize it until the drops hit her trembling hands, but she was crying. Out of fear. Shame. 

"S-so what are we going to do?" She cried. "Why are we here? To pray for forgiveness? Then let's get to it! Right now!"

Everyone was silent. Unmoving. They all simply stared at her. Even the guards, stone-hearted and rough-handed had eyes full of pity for her. Melantriche stamped her foot.

"What are you all waiting for? We have to summon the Priestesses! Where's the sacrifice?"

Adrianis merely wailed and tackled his daughter into a suffocating hug, as if he were falling off the edge of a cliff. All the while, Lyra's gaze never moved from hers, completely devoid of emotion. 

"We've already received guidance from the Priestesses." She said simply.

"What are they? The conditions?" Melantriche demanded, although inside she dreaded the answer as something foul. 

"There is no sacrificial animal because, Lady, you are the sacrifice."


	14. Chapter 14

She should've known. For a Goddess as ferocious as the Great She-Bear, it wasn't a surprise that she would become the nutrients to her bloodlust. In the end, she would end up just like Iphigenia.   
Somehow, Melantriche wasn't frightened at all. Stunned, she supposed, but not scared. But dread isn't completely the same as fear, and Melantriche was feeling just that. Not because she was destined to die, but because there was something else she wasn't being told. It was obvious in that sense, because, well, Lyra had on fancy clothes, and donned white skin, and black hair. And Melantriche was clad in a simple peasant kit. 

"But," Melantriche whispered. "Even though I am the sacrifice, I won't be the one to die, will I?" 

Lyra smiled, her eyes filling with tears once again. She came forward and hugged her attendee. 

"Lady, I was lost for a long time. When my home was overtaken, when my family of only brothers and and an old father were slaughtered, and I was raped and taken a slave, I thought I had nothing to live for. I thought I could just die. It was awful, I could tell you, being passed from one cruel master to another. But, even so, I kept going, and in the end it all paid off, because I could meet you and be able to take care of you and watch you grow up, beautiful and healthy. In that way, I was able to live happily. You gave me a real reason to live. But now, if you die, that will all be over. I'll be stuck on this earth withou-t a, a purpose." She was choking on a sob, and it was all Melantriche could do to use her shaking hands to wipe the woman's tears away and not start to cry again herself. 

"That's why I'm going to take your place. The council will arrive here at the crack of dawn, along with the Priestesses so that they will know that we have committed the deed. When that time comes, you'll be long gone from here, and I will be the one to die." 

"Don't die," Melantriche pleaded through tears. "Don't do this, Lyra! Don't leave me! We can still come away from all of this!" 

"How?" Lyra laughed bitterly. "We may be able to run away from Athens, but we can't run away from the gods. You should know that best of all."

"Then I'll die instead, like I should!" The younger cried. "Just don't go! I don't want you to die!" 

"But, if you care, then you'd listen to me, right? Just because I'll be dead doesn't mean I'll disappear." Lyra said softly. "As long as that holds true, I'll still be there with you, in every step of your life, watching over you."

"How can you watch over me from below ground?"

Lyra laughed and used her veil to wipe away the girl's tears. "You can ask the Lord Hades when you meet him. But that won't be for a while now, thanks to me, hm?" 

"It won't work." Melantriche insisted, "you're too tall to look like me." 

"It will work." Leida finally spoke, her voice hoarse and cracking after so long a period of silence. "Us women are not often seen in public. And it has been a time since the festival. Those old twits won't be able to tell the difference if they can help it." 

The 2 girls stared at her.

"Mother.." Melantriche started. It was because of this woman that all of this was happening now. This damned harpy, and her stubborn pride which wouldn't bend even to the gods. Behind that face, once noble and lovely, even for an old maiden, an ugly green ego flourished. And look where it had gotten her! A husband, once kind, gentle, and loyal, who now turned his back to her, and a beautiful daughter now cursed and sent to live in a faraway place as a different person? Just as Melantriche had become Iphigenia of Sparta, Leida had become Niobe of Thebes. But even though these terrifyingly justified thoughts ran through Melantriche's head, she could not bring herself to hate her mother. Perhaps it was the way she looked now, the remorse etched into her lines face, the regret sunken into her wrinkled skin. In Leida's own way, she had become just as cursed. She was pitiful, and the pitiful were meant to be pitied. Instead, Melantriche stayed silent and merely listened to her instructions. 

She continued, "You will depart for Tiganï. It is a small village just north of here. Aglaia and Aegeus will take you. Aglaia once served a family there, so she will know the way well, and Aegeus is a strong fellow. He is trustworthy too, so he will look after you. Once you reach the village, you mustn't stay for long, so use the money I will give you to sail away from this land. It will be enough for a while, but remember that it will run out, so use it wisely. After that, the rest will be up to you." 

Melantriche's head spun. Within the next 24 hours, her fate would be decided. If this worked like everyone seemed to believe, she would be living a new life in a new place, with hardly anyone familiar around her. The chances of returning were slim indeed, and the life she led from now on would not be guaranteed a sweet, sheltered one she had live till now. But, if not, then she would be reviled as one who tried to escape the god's judgment and serve an even greater toll—in Tartarus, most likely. Oh, how she wished things could be simple, and she could just die! But as always, others decided her future for her, and she was powerless against it. 

Aglaia held in her gnarled hands the giant money purse, which was obviously full to the brim. Just a little of that purse would feed all the homeless in Athens. Even more guilt dwindled upon Melantriche's shoulders. A deep voice boomed behind her, making her jump.

"The sun will rise soon, so let's hurry." He said simply. He was the same soldier that shot Lyra a dirty look earlier—Aegeus, she assumed. 

"Wait," Melantriche said weakly. "Let me say goodbye to them, only for a moment." 

The man gave her a frighteningly stern look, but relented with a, "Make it quick." 

She hugged her father close and kissed his cheeks. He clung to her and told her that he loved her, that he would pray for her every day, but eventually she had to pull away. She hugged Lyra, for the last time, and the woman whispered in her ear, "Remember what I told you. Be brave." Melantriche swallowed down a cry. 

"I love you, Lyra." 

"And I you." Lyra chuckled back, and kissed her cheeks. "You'll make it, I'm positive of it." 

Melantriche finally eased out of the embrace. She looked at her mother, approached her, but did not hug her. She didn't say anything, because she didn't know what to say. Leida didn't speak either.

She didn't hate Leida at all, but just like she had said, it would be a long time before she forgave her. If this plan did not succeed, then most likely never. But, as she was ushered out of the temple, and led through the dark woods by a rushing Aegeus and a nagging old Aglaia, a small fist formed against her breast, like a beacon of resolve against the utter fear she felt. Father, who loved her like no other father loved his daughter. Lyra, who dedicated her whole life to her out of her own volition, out of love. Even Leida, who, despite her flaws and foolish mistakes, looked to the future and accepted her fate without complaint. 

She would never, ever forget them.


	15. Chapter 15

The morning dewdrops came fresh and cold at the crack of dawn, taking the first opportunity to attack Melantriche's face, causing her cheeks and nose to grow red from the sudden freeze. A damp fog surrounded the tiny camp, enclosing everything in a thin layer of moisture. Usually, when the sun rose, it would illuminate the dews that settled upon the grass, and they would shine and glow like diamonds. At least, that was what Lyra had always told her. 

Lyra. 

Melantriche shivered, shutting her eyes even harder. She'd dreamt of her all night—well, all early morning. The 3 of them, Melantriche, Aegeus, and Aglaia, has spent much of their spare time fleeing. They could not risk anyone seeing them, god or no god, so they refused to light a lamp until they were deeper within the woods, where the brush was thickest. It was remarkable, really, how Aglaia could guide them through such darkness without missing so much as a step. Or maybe she did trip and no one saw, because, well, it's dark. Aegeus was just as sure-footed, it  seemed. He tripped about 2 or 3 times—Melantriche was sure of this because she stumbled into him when he did—but otherwise, he was as nimble as a fox. Impressive, for such an enormous man. Melantriche, on the other hand, had no such luck. She tripped so much that on the way, one of her sandals had fallen off, and her feet were sore from running on sharp pine needles. In the dark, she cried out from the sharp slaps of fern leaves around her ankles and the large bugs that flew into her face, and for that, Aglaia snapped at her many times. It was hours before they stopped to rest in a small clearing. As Aegeus built a meager fire and Aglaia brandished multiple cloaks out of nowhere, Melantriche stopped to rest on a rotted out stump, careful not to let her butt fall into the indent. She was sweating buckets; she'd never had such exercise before. She wrestled herself out of the scratchy peplos Lyra made her wear so that she would no longer be trapped in stuffy heat. Looking down at her now exposed arms, they had become a hearty pink and were sticky and damp from sweat. Turning the other way, she lifted her skirt to see the damage which had been done to her legs. Thin strips of red lined her calves and were starting to rash. The bottom side of her feet were filthy and green from the forest floor, and countless little gashes made themselves apparent by oozing black blood from deep within her skin. The edges of her toes were startlingly red and stung when she touched them. She whimpered softly to herself. In her daydreams, she fantasized that she was a man who had many friends to hunt with and to run around naked, completely unabashed in the woods, the way that the maenads did. It was a shameful dream, maybe, but not nearly as stupid to match as it was now, since Melantriche had gotten her taste of true nature. She hated it. She hated bugs and she hated summer and she hated pine trees and ferns. If she had to go through anymore of it tonight, then she was sure that she would die. Luckily, it seemed that they really were stopping for the night, seeming as though the fire was growing ever larger. She saw the glow reaching the farthest reaches of their encampment, but even so, the fire should not have felt this hot on her skin... Melantriche turned around halfway before she froze. 

Aegeus. His attention was no longer on the fire but on her. He was examining her features with, seemingly, an artist's touch. Even as she met his gaze, he didn't shy away, but looked her up and down, from her enormous brown eyes to her plump red lips to her flushed cheeks to her impossibly black hair, falling around her face naturally, in snake-like curls. His pupils seemed to grow sharp as his stare reached her legs, revealed by her uplifted skirt. He scrutinized it all, from her perfectly plump white thighs to her slender legs and her dainty toes, the slices of red skimming them making her seem all the more tangible. Hot-faced, Melantriche yanked down her dressing and stood abruptly, and only then did he look away, with only a silent, meager apology passing his lips. 

She sat closer to Aglaia, even though the woman was chatty and sharp-worded. She complained of the infernal heat and the mosquitoes and the consistency of the bread which she'd passed around the fire. That, along with a slice of sheep's milk cheese and a few fermented olives. It was true, the bread was uneven and stale, and obviously not the kind of bread Aglaia baked. Even so, Melantriche didn't really care because she hardly had any appetite, so she just wanted Aglaia to shut up for a little bit. Personally, she disliked old Aglaia and her constant whining, and she disliked Aegeus too, for his shameless ogling that she still had not forgotten. She had no idea what Father had planned for her. Would she be watched over by these 2 unlikable people for the rest of her life? Or would they simply watch over her until they found that she had been able to settle into a relatively peaceful environment? Or—gods forbid! When Leida said that Aegeus would take care of her, did that mean he be authorized to wed her? Was that perhaps why he'd leered at her so brazenly? The thought! Melantriche shrunk into herself and tried not the stare at him over the other side of the fire. She definitely didn't like him. He was old-looking and ugly and had too many scars. He had enormous gnarled hands that made him look like the type that enjoyed hurting people. He was unnaturally silent and he was like a shadow over her, making her feel the utmost uncomfortable when he was near. 

At Aglaia's sudden remark that they had forgotten to bring wineskins, Melantriche realized that although she wasn't hungry, she was certainly dehydrated. Also, she was desperate for an excuse to be away from her 2 companions. She stood up and insisted that she go to fetch water from the lake, and Aglaia only scowled at her. 

"There's nothing to hold the water in, you silly bosom!"

"My shield." The 2 women jumped at the sound of Aegeus' deep voice which shattered the midnight silence. He spoke again, "Use my shield."

"A shield is too shallow to carry water in, you fool." Aglaia shrilled, but she quickly had a change of tone when a dangerous look of annoyance flashed across the soldier's face. 

"Don't you raise your voice at me, hag. You're not a free woman yet."

"I will be," she shot back, though not as loud as before. "When Lady Melantriche is taken to the village, I will be."

He ignored her completely as he stood, grunting like an old man before brandishing his shield. And he was right, it was a large bronze one with leather covering the back, some bull horn outlining the edges. It was thick and had a wide concave deep enough to haul some water in. He came toward Melantriche and held it out to her with both hands, his eyes holding some kind of softness as he looked down at her. Feeling like a sore thumb, Melantriche took it, flinching when he said in a gentle voice, "Careful with it."

"Thank you," She replied stiffly before turning on her heel towards the lake, trying not to reveal the fact that the shield was surprisingly heavy. With a sulking grumble, Aglaia followed close behind her. 

When Melantriche reached the lake she kneeled down at its edge. Without the moon to illuminate off of it, it seemed like a veritable churning black hole, causing Melantriche to become slightly hesitant before dragging her thin fingers across its surface. Much to her delight, it was safe, and pleasantly cool. Without any more delay, she cupped her hands to splash her face with the water, washing away all the sweat, dirt, and oil. It was heavenly. She repeated this a few times before running her soaked hands over her arms and sweltering neck. Finally she cupped her hands once again, filled with a hearty measure of water and bent forward to drink it. But just as the feeling of moisture touched her lips, a sharp pain suddenly appeared on the back of her head, so impactful that she stumbled and almost fell into the water. Grasping for her now aching head, her eyes shot up to see Aglaia exclaiming something that, for a brief moment, was incoherent in Melantriche's stunned ears. 

"Don't drink that, you foolish chit!" Aglaia hissed as she yanked the shield from her. "Don't you even know that you can get ill from unclean water? You have to boil it first!" 

Melantriche stared at her dumbly for a moment before standing up. Aglaia was a horrible person. For a slave she was completely out of line, and, if she was still back at her father's residence, she would not be acting this way towards Melantriche. Aglaia had struck her and meant it. Aegeus was right when he'd said that she wasn't a free woman yet, still she acted as if she were one. Melantriche was indignant, on the verge of tears, almost. Even though she knew it was weakness, she always cried when she was upset. What right had Aglaia to be such a horrid person, slave or no? It was unjustly.   
Maybe it was the apparent look on Melantriche's face that made Aglaia so suddenly meek, but the woman's face quickly relaxed into a gentle smile.

"Please, don't misread me, Lady. I don't mean to be curt, truly I don't. But your health is top priority, and I must do whatever it takes to make sure you are safe. I've always been a mean woman, it's just the way I am, so don't feel like I dislike you. You're just a dainty little sprout, so it's not your fault you don't know how to prepare water. I reckon hardly any men do, and that's why there's so much illness in war." 

Sweet words. Honey words, Melantriche knew, but she kept quiet anyway. Melantriche, being parched, exhausted, frightened and irritable, had a strong desire for silence. Instead, Aglaia droned on. 

"Ah, but it's too much of a shame, isn't it, Lady? That that Lyra girl had to go and die? 'Tis a shame, truly it is. Personally, I always thought she was a strange girl. A bit annoying, really, since she always had her head in the clouds. Always goin' on and on about the dreams that she had for the future. And I always thought, we're slaves, in't we? We shouldn't have dreams! It's better if we don't, so that we don't hope for nothin' beyond our reach." 

"Lyra wasn't annoying." Melantriche said coldly. "She was brilliant. She always worked her hardest. She had wonderful dreams and she never lost her temper with me, unlike you. I loved her." 

"Oh, I'm sure you did, pretty child. I meant no offense. In fact, I was about to say that I liked her! That's why I said it was a shame, see. Even though she was all too much of a peppy chatterbox, it was nice to hear her tell stories, and she was a tidy little lass too. When she told us all that she meant to sacrifice herself for you, I felt awful for not getting closer to her sooner. Ah, well, I guess there's no point in dwelling on anything now, hm?" She finished washing her face and, as she fetched the water, she gave Melantriche an almost sympathetic look over her bony shoulder. "I tell you, though: there's no point in blaming yourself either. People do just what they please, be it dying for someone or no, and nothing you can say with change their minds. To feel guilty is human, but to weep about it the rest of your life just shows that you're pig-headed. You understand, girl?" 

Melantriche nodded slowly, and quietly, after a moment of thinking, she murmured, "You said that having dreams is stupid, but I don't think so. I think that without dreams, we would have no resolve to do anything, and nothing to live for."

"A wiseman's daughter indeed!" Aglaia cackled. "Yes, I suppose you're right some, Lady. Without dreams, the Trojan War would have never occurred! Without dreams, Queen Helen would've never abandoned her home country for a foreign coward. Without dreams, men wouldn't have ever fought our wars, dreaming of the glory that they'd reap, the women they'd rape, the riches they'd gain, even if it ended in the death of millions!" 

"You're making fun of me." Melantriche muttered. "Mock all you like, old woman, I don't care. And believe all you want, too. You only say that because you have no dreams." 

"And you do?"

"I do." Melantriche said simply, and she turned away towards the camp. She did have a dream. It wasn't a specific dream, and it was an unrealistic one, but a dream nonetheless. She didn't know what was going to happen to her after tonight, but Aglaia had become like a reminder to herself, that she had to have hope, lest she become a cynic like that old harpy. And besides, when Pandora opened the her husband's pithos, hadn't only hope remained inside? At least it was true that it was Melantriche's hope for a better future that allowed her to keep going, rather than run back into the woods towards the temple to be slaughtered. She'd already thought of doing so more than several times already, only for Lyra, but she knew that it would do no good. Lyra would die anyways, and if Melantriche died too, then it would have been all for naught. But guilt wracked Melantriche that night. Dreams of Lyra, neck slit open and reaching out for her, and Melantriche ran towards her, screaming. When Lyra embraced her, she merely smiled as if she felt no pain, and she whispered, 

"Be brave."

And she woke then, when the dewdrops were forming and her face became red from the chill. She thought that dew was dripping onto her face until she touched them and realized—

Dew isn't supposed to be warm.


	16. Chapter 16

They arrived at Port Tiganï later that evening. Just as Leida said, it was a small town, but for all of that it was a pleasant one. When Melantriche imagined what it might be like, she pictured a handful of straw huts and pig pens—the portrait lifestyle of primitive Spartans. However, there were a few houses of real brick, just like it had been in Athens. They even had little pathways that wound around each other, making it seem like more of a live-in maze than a village. Even later during the day, there was quite a lot of hustle and bustle. Little boys chased each other around in the streets with sticks, squealing in excitement. A few women were gathered around the local well, gossiping in hushed voices as they hoisted water in a small wooden bucket. A small market sprouted in the main alleyway, and on the dusty mud steps, hundreds of stalls. The group first passed a fish kiosk which had slimy squids on the rack, their tentacles still coiling slowly around the harsh air as if to grasp their fading lives. A bearded man shouting about the freshly-caught bass, whilst his young slave boy sat nearby on a rickety stool, his sullen face hardening as he focused on gutting the catch, using a small machete-like knife to slice off the scales. This was about the same with the others: local herbs and spices brought in from neighboring docks poured into small terra-cotta pots, colorful tapestries with strange rainbowed stories weaved into them, and then there were cages filled with animals Melantriche had heard about, but never seen. She was astounded to find that turtles were much grumpier-looking than she'd expected, perhaps because they were prisoners.   
There was a relatively large dock beyond a cluster of small huts, where little fishing boats were coming in for the night. Men strode on the boardwalk. They came in pairs, or triplets mostly, juggling small coins and howling in laughter to each other about some ribald joke that Melantriche couldn't understand. If she hadn't been so anxious, she would've been amazed. She'd never seen a port before. Even now, tickets were being sold in a wooden booth on one of the docks—to another place that Melantriche did not know.

As if to read her mind, Aglaia said, "The family I served is surely a still 'round here. In the center of the town, in a big mansion, if I'm not mistaken. They'll house us for tonight."   
With that, they started off into heart of the foreign abyss, straight into the marketplace. And Melantriche couldn't help but wish that they hadn't, for it was ultimate torture to be dragged by the hand when she could've been taking in all the luxuries that she hadn't knew even existed. Even so, in the midst of curiosity, as well as exhaustion and grief, she was still in her right mind to do as she was told. Besides, Aegeus still trailed behind them like a shadow.   
Although, despite the silence between the 3 being heavenly, it left Melantriche to think of a lot of worrying questions that would likely be left unanswered. When they arrived to their host's house, would they be believed to be who they said they were, or would they be turned away? Melantriche couldn't blame them, with their filthy peasant clothes and their ratty hair. Perhaps that was what the gold was for. But what if even that weren't convincing? Rather, they would be accused of stealing! Would they be punished badly? Even if this worked, what would they think? There had to be an explanation as to why they would show up in such a vulgar demeanor, and what would their excuse be? Some wench running away from the wrath of the gods, not willing to accept the consequences of her family's hubris? Even with reward, they'd turn her away for sure! And even still, it never would have worked out in the first place because even with Lyra and her disguise, she and Melantriche were 2 very different physiques! How could Father think this stupid plan was going to work? How could he? 

She couldn't have been sure that it had been just her that felt the time exercised to find this mansion was becoming excessive, but she was relieved to see that it wasn't. It seemed that they were going in circles and, seeing how every corner of town seemed completely identical, Melantriche couldn't really blame Aglaia. But despite the orange sun sinking rather quickly, she thanked fate in her heart. Maybe, just maybe, this was an opportunity for her to slip away... but Melantriche was patient. Just a few minutes, she thought. A few more minutes, maybe 5, and then they would stop. Surely, especially between master and a servant, that was enough? Hopefully they would stay lost until then. She didn't want to go. Didn't want to leave Athens, didn't want to do anything. She hadn't much time regardless. 

As for Aglaia, she seemed to be getting even more and more anxious. And the more anxious she was, the more impertinent she was. 

"I swear I remember where it is, Lady," she snapped to herself, although no one had said anything yet. Perhaps it was that she could feel Aegeus' irritated eyes burning into her frail back. "Surely I'm not going senile?" She muttered to herself, wiping some sweat from her brow as she increased her pace. "Surely I'm not!"

Melantriche need not say the word, for it was Aegeus who finally spoke up, "Sure you aren't playing games with us, old woman?" 

Aglaia whirled around, her eyes scrunching into black slits. "Don't accuse me so! I served this family for many-a year! Surely my memory can't be that impaired."

Aegeus sneered and opened his mouth to retort, but a loud yawn escaped Melantriche's own. She chimed in, "But we've been going in circles now. And I'm tired. I don't want to go on anymore." 

Aglaia's wrinkles deepened, her teeth set in. "You say you don't want to. We don't want to either, but there's no choice. We must." 

"But I don't want to." Melantriche complained. "It's so hot and it's getting dark. The mosquitoes are already out, and you've only gone and gotten us lost. Who's own fault is that, that you can't do just one job right? I suppose an incompetent slave is one that's no good."

Even though it made her feel bad to say such things, Melantriche was glad she did. It was like magic words; Aglaia's wrinkled face went nearly slack-jawed, her already brown-burned face going red with humiliation, and suddenly she wasn't so menacing anymore. A mixture of laughter and pity bubbled up inside her. 

"I refuse to go any further," Melantriche continued, her young back going taut with obstinacy. "You should find our new hosts, Algaia, if you know the way so well. You can come back to get us when you've found it."

"But, I—," 

"I don't want to hear anymore." Melantriche said, feeling as if her voice had turned to cold stone. "Go away already."

For a moment, the old woman stood there, her eyes poisonous. Then she slithered down the alleyway like a loathsome snake, her tail between her legs. When she was out of sight, Melantriche plopped herself down onto a nearby set of stairs. Sighing with relief, she slouched as she took the time to crack her aching bones, brush the grime off her feet, and then she simply sat there, taking in the evening air. Silently, she smiled bitterly. It was a fascinating place, really. If only Lyra were here to enjoy it with her. And then she put her head between her knees and suddenly cried, choking on her quick breaths that shocked her and tried to wipe away the waterfalls that fell stubbornly, helplessly down her cheeks. 

"At least there's something to clean my face, hm?" She sputtered jokingly, but Aegeus said nothing, only stared, and it made her feel even more embarrassed. Really, she felt stupid like this. For a moment it felt as if she'd never stop crying, but when she struck the side of her head and sucked up a breath obstinately, the tears stopped as fast as they came. Then, calmly, she stood with an effortful grace and smiled calmly at her bodyguard. 

"It's boring to sit here. Take me to see the market.”


	17. Chapter 17

In all honesty, this town wasn't so big. Being a bit lively came naturally from being a port, obviously. Of course, Melantriche wouldn't have known that. With the simmering red dusk came the shadows that lurked thereafter. There were hardly any children running amok anymore. No women, either, save for a few dodgy ones sashaying around on the arm of a sailor. There was one with auburn curls who winked at Melantriche as she passed, and the burly man with her guffawed throatily. Melantriche gawked. She tripped as she attempted to hurry her step, desperately averted her burning face from the whore's melon-sized bosom which looked fit to burst from her tight-pinned wools.

By the time that the pair returned to the main alley, it was even worse. The less savory stalls had opened up and there were crowds tussling against each other in enormous black waves. Melantriche was shoved numerous times, nearly jostled off her feet as she fought to break through the crowd, but Aegeus constantly bit at her heels, keeping her upright. She squealed as she was almost sure that among the rabble, someone had brushed their hand up her backside. Wave after wave they broke free, and the first thing she saw was Aegeus' block face staring disapprovingly down at her as if to say, this is what you wanted to see?

Aside from that, Melantriche and Aegeus' adventures in the market were relatively swell. To see all the things she'd ever eaten and used in one place, all at once was... a bit surreal, really. Not set on a clean wool cloth or perfumed but being made right there in front of her. It kind of smelled bad, the dust and the bloody slabs of meat and the thick stench of sweat building heavily in her nose. Some people sold items of wood like dinnerware and combs and grizzly statuettes. And then there were some stalls that were selling things like cloth and some sold big chunks of candlewax and others sold jewelry. The merchants waved them, exasperatedly as they shouted from the top of their lungs and when Melantriche passed by, she would find the products being thwarted into her face. Letting out a small cry of alarm, she'd nearly fall back on her butt if Aegeus weren't there to catch her. How curious. 

"Young lady, who'd look like a goddess in the flesh with this necklace if not you?" The wooden-painted beads clicked in the man's grasp. "I simply insist that you try it on." 

"S-sir, I'm only looking." The man shouted after her, but she was too busy hurrying away. They were such forward individuals, weren't they? More forward even than Belenus, those merchants. But it was normal to be accosted in the market, but that was scary too. Melantriche's face burned. Those beads almost slapped her. It was embarrassing, and—Gods on Olympus—this roiling flesh pit was so hot. She was aching to remove her shawl, but decided against it. Granted that she didn't exactly feel like she was being watched, but still...   
The least she could do was get out of the street completely. It was a lot cooler in the alley, and how else was that old witch going to find them? But between the hustle and Aglaia, it was hard to select which was more favorable. Melantriche weaved herself between people, turned about. No sign of an alleyway anywhere. And here she thought it would be a lot easier. 

"Aegeus... I think we've spent enough time around here—," but well, she wasn't paying that much attention to where he was. Well, it was his job to keep up with her, wasn't it? So why was it that no one around her looked familiar? 

"Guh..." she turned this way and that, glancing in every direction. Not an Aegeus in sight. That's... peachy. Should she be panicking right now? It didn't come right away, but something thick and heavy began to slosh around in her chest as she stumbled through. She hadn't realized that the man's presence was somewhat of a reassurance to her safety. She just accepted it, probably because that's what was expected but... this is a bit new. Being completely alone, she means. Suddenly she wasn't feeling so confident anymore in her stride, which was slowly turning into barely a slither. 

"Aegeus! Aegeus! Aegeus..." strange humiliation scorched her cheeks, as if she was drawing everyone's attention(even though who else isn't screaming in the market?) except for that giant bird brain. He was supposed to be with her. That was his job. Where was he right now, leaving her in lurch like this? Slowly, her voice became weaker and weaker till gradually she just didn't bother at all. Maybe this was her chance to make a break for it... for where? To where? She felt like a lost child crying for her mother. Maybe he'd actually just thought she wasn't worth the trouble and bolted, the miserable blighter. And... Aglaia could be doing the same. They did entrust her with the money, after all, didn't they? That probably wasn't the smartest choice. Oh dear. 

"What made me think I wanted life to be interesting?" She gasped to herself as she walked. It seemed now that life was not at all exciting, just overwhelming. And scary. She could never be independent, and that wasn't something that could be helped! It just came out of being an Athenian. 

Melantriche trembled nervously. She was alone... 

Suddenly someone was shouting. Not the usual marketplace shouting, but shouting. Melantriche saw him, a filthy man with ashy fingers holding a goblet, stumbling not too far away, singing some old Athenian ditty. 

"He walked his plank honorably—ack! Those dirty Spartans!   
He sang glory and lands untold— ack! Those dirty Spartans!   
A damsel awaits in his home— ack! Those dirty Spartans!  
His beloved land of Athens— ack! Those dirty Spartans!  
Weeping him goodbye-e-e!" 

It was dreadful singing, and his cheeks were all hued with red. The poor fellow, he was perfectly drunk. He slammed into the one nearest to him, a member of a trading group with dark skin and there became a large splatter of beer over the front of his vest, and suddenly there was lots of yelling and swarming like a gathering of angry owls. It was almost like the toppling of dominoes, for before Melantriche could get away the person in front of her tumbled, and Melantriche's sandal caught onto the hem of her skirt—it all happened so fast, she started hopping, desperately trying not to slip. But an involuntary cry slipped through her lips and her arms thrust forward, trying to catch herself. She shut her eyes tight, her mind screaming, no!   
So you can imagine that it was an even bigger shock to find the sudden presence of something grappling her elbows instead of the taste of dusty bricks in her face. Melantriche caught onto someone's hands—very beautiful ones, with smooth tanned skin and voluptuous tendons. She glanced up slowly.   
The man was leaning wholeheartedly against the side of his stall to catch her. She hadn't noticed the stall before but it was there. He was swathed in a simple pale tunic but—Oh Gods—he was very blonde. Such golden hair, and his skin glowed healthily with the aura of a happy youth who spent his time outside constantly. He had such slim delicate features, his cheeks and his nose. He had crystal clear eyes that reminded Melantriche of a pair of aquamarine earrings her mother had showed her once. And at the moment, these ones were focused on her. He stared at her with such... pleasant surprise. He grinned, flashing the most perfect pearly teeth Melantriche had ever seen. 

"Well, that is certainly a way to approach a honey stall, isn't it?" 

Her face burned and she felt herself shrinking. The moment of her fall was replaying in her mind repeatedly, each more over-proportionate and humiliating than the last. How stupid she must have looked! Slowly, she stood up and wiped her face excessively, as if she could erase it—which is exactly what she wanted to do. But he still looked at her, though now in slight realization. 

"Aha, it's okay, you timorous little thing. You didn't do any harm, and I'd rather a pretty creature like you than a drunk like that." He laughed with good humor—the most charming laugh she'd ever heard—but it made Melantriche all the more ashamed. He pitied her! 

"O-oh no, sir. It's... it's all my fa-ult." She brushed herself off. Really, he was sure she didn't do anything to his wares? She checked the counter inconspicuously, and there wasn't any like he said. Just a board, wiped completely clean. Still, it felt only right that she do something. "Thank you v-very much! For... for catching me... uh," she stuttered over her words as she looked at him. Really, how was he so handsome? He must be some sort of angel... "wh-what sort of wares do you sell?" 

He stared at her. "Honey, I think." He said quietly, in an almost amused voice. Melantriche flamed. 

"Th-that's right, honey..." she eyed the strings of golden combs hanging above their heads. Daft brain, he told you that already! "I... forgot..." 

"Yes, I could tell." He smiled. "Perhaps you're thinking of buying?" 

"Yes." The words slipped unconsciously from her mouth and she flamed. "W-What kind do you sell?" 

"Well, I haven't anything fancy. Nothing overseas. There's some combs that were collected here around Athens, but there are some from farther north, like in Thebes. Oh, but I'll tell you a secret." He beckoned her closer. "Around here, the more northward the honey is, the waxier." He shook his head, making a subtly repulsed face. "Not very good. It's westward that you want to look for. It's sweeter. And actually, I'm from Delphi. I can assure you personally that the honey there is the best." He winked secretively. Melantriche gulped. 

"Erm, th-then is it safe to assume you're selling some of this Delphi honey?" 

"Well, I'm a bit low, but I'm sure there's still some left. Would you like me to check?" 

She nodded, and he did. While he was doing that, Melantriche allowed herself a breath. What a nice young man. A really nice, really handsome young man. Still, she felt so out of place talking to him. So unsettled. She felt as if she might combust if he stared any more at her. She felt her cheek with a finger. Too hot. Then it... probably showed, pale as she was. Uh oh. She flamed again. 

"Ah, here we are." He stood up and turned back to her, a string of several bright drippy combs in his hand. They looked mouthwateringly good. The handsome blond man beckoned Melantriche forward again. 

"Here, smell them." He raised them to her nose. She took a shy whiff of the stuff. It smelled light and flowery and fragrant, almost like when one broke a sugarcane in half. The man grinned. "Sweet, right?"

"Y-Yes, it's sweet... really sweet." Sweet like you. 

The man's eyebrows raised. His mouth opened as if to say something, then closed. He made a pfft sound. 

"How cute." 

Melantriche's jaw dropped. "W-What?" 

"Hm? Nothing, you're just cute." 

She felt fuzzy. She never felt this hot, even when Belenis had confessed his love—well, thinking of him now made her feel bad. Really, what would he think if he saw her, getting so hot and bothered over some honey seller? Instinctively, a hand raised to her face to wipe away the sweat. Then it flew away. She jerked for her pack. 

"H-how much d-do I owe you?" She sputtered nonsensically as she scrabbled for some coins. The man seemed to ponder this. 

"Mm, well..." 

Melantriche searched desperately through the contents, but she was stumped. There was only a blanket, some reserved water and some bread. But no money. She sweated. Why did she let Aglaia take the money? She glanced up nervously. 

"I... uh..."

He snorted. "Let me guess: you're short on money?"

I don't have any at all. But she nodded, staring at the ground, feeling more ashamed than she could ever remember. Was honey even all that expensive? She must look so stupid. Melantriche cringed. It felt like she was standing there forever. Somehow she expected him to... what, explode into fury and chase her off? 

She heard a sigh. 

"Well, I guess there's nothing for it but to just give it to you for free." 

Melantriche's head shot up. "Huh?" 

The man shrugged. "Well, it'll crystallize eventually, right? Nothing I can do about that. And anyways," he lowered his eyelashes at her. "it's not often I get such cute customers." 

"O-oh..." 

"Really, don't get so flustered. Just think of it as a reward for entertaining me tonight." 

Well, that's certainly a way to put it. A slightly shaking hand reached across the counter to take the honey before Melantriche felt a startlingly strong grip on her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin before whirling her head around. There, hulking an entire 3 heads over her was Aegeus.


	18. Chapter 18

"A-Aegeus!" 

The man's block-like brown face roiled, his large brows furrowing. His grip tightened uncomfortably against Melantriche's shoulder. 

"You should not be buying inessential things." He eyed the honey seller with a disparaging gaze. "Especially not from such shady stalls." 

Melantriche would have liked to know what about this lovely man's establishment could be seen as shady, but the man only smiled politely. 

"And who might this be? A friend of yours?" 

"Y-yes, something like that." Slowly, Melantriche pulled her shoulder loose, and Aegeus frowned at her, which she returned with zeal. "I was looking all over for you."

"Forgive me. I lost milady in the crowd. You can never know with this... town." 

"W... well, you're here now, so that's all that matters." 

"If you're ready, then we'll be going now." He tried to clutch Melantriche's arm again, but she stepped away. He didn't need to grab her, she wasn't an animal. 

"Not yet, Aegeus. I was having a nice conversation with this fellow just now." She gestured to the very handsome honey seller whom she neglected to learn the name of, but it would be embarrassing to ask him now. "He was... educating me about the quality of honeycombs." 

"Well, if you don't mind me saying so, Madam, as exciting as that sounds it seems highly unlikely to me that you'll be using such knowledge in the future. And," he added with a firm tone that made Melantriche quiver, "I think it unwise to strike conversations with men you don't know. It's unbefitting of your station, Madam."

Melantriche stole a glance nervously at the honey seller, who—thankfully—was still wearing a businesslike countenance as he stared back at Aegeus. She couldn't help but feel ashamed for some reason, though she didn't know exactly for what. She felt like a small child being scolded in public. Stupid Aegeus, he was embarrassing her! 

"We weren't doing anything..." she slowly lifted the string of combs for him to see. "He was giving these to me for free..." 

Aegeus scowled even more, as if that were even possible. "Isn't that convenient?" 

"S-stop it. I won't have you badgering me, Aegeus." Melantriche said in as stern a voice as possible, straightening her back. "It's not in your place to criticize the places I go to shop, and c-certainly not what I buy. If you're so suspicious about this man's wares, even then you'd be there to watch over me while I eat them. So... quit worrying!" Damn. She stuttered. But she said what she meant, and that alone felt like something of an accomplishment... Aegeus stood back, his face hard as rock. 

"Then... forgive me, Madam. I was out of line." He uttered quietly. He turned away. "I'll wait over there, at the entrance." He pointed, the he left. As soon as the man was out of sight, Melantriche let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding. She pressed a hand to her thumping chest. If there was one thing she understood about herself now, it was that she hated confrontation. Hated it. She turned to the honey seller. He chuckled dryly. 

"That was quite... tense."

"I'm so, so sorry about that. He-he doesn't mean any harm, that's just his, uh, his job..." she stared hard at her twiddling thumbs. "You're stall isn't at all shady. I-it's really quite nice, and you seem like an equally exc-exceptional fellow, so thank you." 

"Ah, think nothing of it. I get complicated folks all the time. Why do you think I'm so suave, hm?" 

Melantriche laughed softly. "Yes. Very gifted with the speech." Unlike me. "... W-well, it was very pleasant, talking with you. And thank you again, for these." She waved the honeycombs softly. "I'll be sure to enjoy them."

"Oh, I'm sure you will." The man batted a wink, his voice strangely dry. "Maybe I'll see you around sometime." 

"Uh, yes..." No, that won't happen. "Um, goodbye!" She blurted, turned and rushed away like a waif. 

———

The girl was gone now. His gaze lingered on the point in the street where he last saw her. As expected, she really was very cute. He propped his chin with his hand boredly. He sighed. 

"A pity."


	19. Chapter 19

"Look, not a lot of people are out anymore." Melantriche pointed to the half-empty street, no longer a gyrating snake but an orange-brown snowed street in twilight, lit dimly by some quiet lamps dappled here and there. "We can get through a lot easier now." 

A thick silk canopy of a black night was now thoroughly spread over the dome of the sky. It certainly was late now, wasn't it? Though the moon could no longer be seen, the the ticking clock in Melantriche's body told her what time it was. Her eyes began to droop and she yawned repeatedly for what seemed to be almost every 10 steps forward. Or maybe it was the prolonged excitement of the market taking its toll on her. Probably both. Surely Aglaia was finished talking to the supervisors now. Maybe she was searching for them now—if she hadn't run off with the money. The thought gave Melantriche such a worrying headache. But, she resolved, it wouldn't be such a problem, would it? Even if that were the case, there was no way an old woman like that could get far. Aegeus would surely be able to track her down. But that was all wishful thinking, of course. Surely Aglaia wouldn't do that... 

But for now, their sights were set. Melantriche glanced around. It had felt like they were walking about aimlessly. This was a large alley buoyed crookedly above several rows of cobblestone steps. Bleached stained clothes hung on pin lines over their heads, their hems cupping the wind and swaying softly in the hot midnight breeze. A few people passed them. "Where do you think we are?" 

Aegeus shrugged. "South side of town. We came from the west." 

"Do you think Aglaia will be around there?"

"She will." He replied with complete and utter certainty. His hand clasped the sheathed knife to his side. Melantriche gulped. "Her life will be depending on it."

"Uh..." it's not as if Aglaia were Melantriche's favorite person either, but she never thought of a real punishment if, in fact, Aglaia decided to ditch them. She... couldn't order something so cruel. But if she didn't, she would lose what little respect she had. Melantriche chewed her thumb, her chest feeling slightly heavy. She was so tired... 

"Let's just worry about that when we get to it. We... just need to get to the westward side, right?" That shouldn't be so hard. She waved forward. "Lead the way, Aegeus." 

He did. 

She was barely walking now. Her feet dragged incessantly against the rough, dusty stones. Her body felt like a thick meat prison clamped to her by pins in which that she'd been forced to drag along. She wished she could just shed it and fly away from all this madness. Maybe Aegeus could help her, just use his sword to split her open just as Hephaestus had done for his holy father to birth Athena. But... perhaps some other time. Her neck felt so stiff, so sluggish as she looked this way and that. She thought it might crack. How long had they been walking around now? This road looked almost identical to the last. Somewhere close by, something smelly was burning. There was a mosquito on Melantriche's shoulder. She smacked it but it flew away. She glared at the dim lamplight. Stupid bugs. 

The lamp hung loosely against the wall, the clamps looking as if they might give away any minute. The flame was soft and tiny and bright. Somehow looking at it made Melantriche remember that extremely handsome honey seller. An involving heat crept into against her neck and cheeks. He was such a lovely person. She'd never seen a man with such hair... oh, right! She reached an arm over her back, groping for the opening of her pack. She'd saved the combs he gave her there. She felt her fingers grapple a particularly sticky one, and pulled it back. It glowed like amber against the light, liquid gold seeping out into Melantriche's palm. That pleasant fragrance wafted into her nose again, blocking out everything else, including that fowl burning stench. This would be messy... slowly she inched her mouth lower. Crunch! She took a small bite, leaving teeth marks in the spongey yellow wax. 

Melantriche munched slowly. It was very chewy on the inside, and incredibly sweet. Probably the sweetest thing she ever tasted. It wasn't hard at all. Actually, it tasted very fresh, as if it had been plucked right out of the hive that very day. Didn't that man say he'd had it for a while? Well, he'd insinuated it. She licked the edges of her lips to keep the liquid from dribbling out. Yes, very sweet. Almost sickeningly so, actually, as if one would swallowed an entire spoonful of sugar. She swallowed. It certainly made you thirsty... she reached again for her jug of water. Thankfully, it was still slightly cool, and sanitized thanks to Aglaia and her badgering. Melantriche took a large swig of it, and it felt refreshing when droplets of it ran down her chin. She glanced up. Aegeus was watching with indiscernible eyes. Melantriche swallowed. She probably looked no better than the street girl, eating out of her hands like a hermit. Silently, after a moment, she split the comb in half. She held a piece of it out. 

"Would you like some too? It's good."

He shook his head at her. Oh. An involuntary cough left her and she stared down. Besides the faint chirping of cicadas and the wet chumbling of Melantriche's sticky teeth, it was deathly quiet. She made an inconspicuous look at the space between her and her guard. How awkward. She took a larger bite of the comb. Her mind turned to the honey seller. He said that the westward hives produced more wax. If that was the case, then she'd never want to eat one. Delphi combs seemed waxy enough. Oh, the water had helped, certainly, but the wax was hard to swallow. She could feel it building in the gaps between her teeth. With the sweetness drained from them, they didn't taste that pleasant. Almost... bitter. 

A few minutes had passed, though personally to Melantriche, it felt much longer. Really, how long were they going to walk? Their hosts would not be pleased, no doubt, to welcome guests so late into the night. Just thinking about it made Melantriche feel uneasy. She cleared her throat. 

"Eh, how—," momentarily, she was startled. The combs made it a bit hard to speak. She had to work hard to pry her jaws apart, thanks to the wax. She stared at the leftover comb in her hand. Only about 3 mouthfuls. Still, maybe it was best that she save the rest for later. Carefully spooning it into her pack, she flamed at the thought of meeting her future in-laws with yellow wax in her teeth. "How much further do we have to go?" 

"Just a little farther." Aegeus replied, curtly. Melantriche bit her lip. She wondered what would happen to him when he was done escorting her. He was Father's best guard, so he'd obviously go back to Athens. Still, Melantriche didn't know if she could stand it, being in a new house all on her lonesome. Even if Aegeus was disconcerting—to say the least—to be around, and certainly not a garrulous person, he was her only link to home.   
Home. With her soft bed and her pretty clothes and her mother's jewelry. Lyra in women's quarters and with small children running around gaily. Her future was certain there. Now Melantriche didn't know what was going to happen. Father, Lyra... she missed them. Of course, Lyra was probably lying bloody and missing her head on a powdered alter—no! The thought made Melantriche sick. She stifled a sharp breath, her eyes threatening to water. It was her own fault she was dead. But she didn't—she couldn't— 

Melantriche bumped her forehead face-first against hard leather. Ow. Rubbing her brow, she glanced up. She was so busy amidst her thoughts she hadn't notice that they had stopped. She leaned sideways to see... a dead end. What...? 

She turned around. It was a lot darker here. There were hardly any lamps around, and there was not a person in sight. She frowned. Didn't Aegeus know where he was going or not? He was a guard, wasn't he? She glanced down at her aching feet, and inwardly groaned as she noticed the forming blisters around the straps. She most certainly did not feel like walking anymore. 

She felt heavy hands clamp against her shoulders, nearly making her jump. She glanced up slowly. Aegeus stared down at her, his expression so very odd. The sharp lines of his face softened, though it made a cold shiver run down Melantriche's spine. It was quiet for a very long moment, aside from the feeling of Melantriche's heartbeat rapidly picking up. 

He said quietly, softly, gently, like the lilting voice of a hunter trying not to scare of his prey, "You're so comely."

And then he bent down and kissed her.


	20. Chapter 20

The plates of his armor were, of course, made of iron. They pressed down incessantly against Melantriche, effectively compressing the air right out of her. She could feel every nail, chip, screw encrusted digging, pressing hard against her soft breasts. Sweat pooled down her face as she struggled to glance up, to breathe, but it was fine. The glimmer of gold in the darkness identified the intruder well enough. 

He stalked forward smoothly, carelessly, as if he were simply witnessing a charade between children. Several feet away, he stopped and placed his hands leisurely against his supple hips.

"Well, well. Look what I've found." He hummed thoughtfully, leaning forward. "What a shame. We can't even trust our own soldiers to protect us. It actually makes me a little sad, to be honest." 

"You." Melantriche felt the rumble of Aegeus' chest as he growled lowly. Her stomach filled with terrible dread. Aegeus was a boulder of a man and Mr. Honey-seller was much more lithe than that. As far as she could tell, he didn't have a weapon either. Nevertheless, it felt like a truly authentic miracle that he, of all people, had shown up here. Something tingly fluttered in her chest. Please, she begged in her mind, Oh please don't kill him. 

Aegeus lifted himself from the ground, nearly kicking Melantriche in the process. She scrambled away, using one arm to hug her front as she heaved deeply through her nose.

"I knew there was something dodgy about you, but to think. You were tailing us? I have to wonder what you were planning." 

The blond man shrugged nonchalantly. "Probably not much worse than what you were doing just now. I would call the guards, but I figure that would just cause more trouble, wouldn't it?" 

"Snarky little bastard." A flash, a scrape of metal, and his sword was poised at his burly side, its sharp edge winking silver against the dim torchlight, as if heralding what he was about to do. Melantriche's heart leapt against her throat. Without thinking, her legs sprung up taut and she ran, grabbing at Aegeus' arm, slapping at his bulging muscles before once again she was knocked aside by a smarting fist against her cheekbone. A cry bounced around within the chamber of her mouth as she stumbled back again.   
"Get back!" He snarled with the ferocity of a wolf intimidating its prey. She couldn't help the involuntary reaction of shrinking against the back wall. Her eyes darted here and there, repeatedly finding its way bouncing between Aegeus' broadsword and the honey seller's beautiful hair. There was no way out.   
He pointed his blade against the man. "You make it sound as if you're better than me, but I know your type. You think I didn't see your game earlier, trying to bait out this little harlot with your honey bullshit?" 

Even from the distance she was, there was no denying the glint that flared in the blond man's eyes. Verily, it seemed at that moment they glowed with a sort of aura that made Melantriche shiver uneasily, as if something momentously terrifying was afoot. 

"Oh, Aegeus. I knew you weren't a most likeable fellow, but really. Now you've got me peeved." The man sighed, evidently exasperated as he shook his head, yet his voice seemed to reverberate throughout the alley. He took a large step forward, a move that Aegeus didn't seem to take too kindly. Nonetheless, Melantriche could tell he was more than a little apprehensive by his new tone of voice. Maybe he felt it too. 

"Who the hell are you?" Aegeus hissed, the tip of his blade slightly wavering. "How do you know my name?"

Melantriche stared. The blond man's eyes glowed too vibrantly to be humanely possible. He smirked broadly. 

"You're a fool, Aegeus. The gods know everything." 

She couldn't explain the fear she had then. For some reason, at first, she couldn't have been so surprised. She should've known better. The man certainly was beautiful. Too beautiful to be human, but somehow Melantriche has been expecting something... more. Flashing lights, perhaps? A great thunderstorm called down to smite her? She didn't know, but a strange resigned terror quickly spread through her legs, causing them to shake uncontrollably, her back's pressure point feeling as if it were being pulled to the earth. Her mind spiked rapidly with thoughts here and there, but the context was the same: 

So this is it. 

"Do... don't be foolish!" Aegeus shouted back, impassioned if anything else could indicate his shaking sword. Really, from his earlier actions Melantriche could've taken him for a smart fellow. Perhaps that's why the dumb don't speak. "You think you can put yourself on the level of the gods? We wouldn't fall for that. I've fought Spartans more intimidating than you, and..." 

The blond divinity didn't seem to care. He stared right past the large soldier and Melantriche felt herself trembling too hard. Almost... dizzy. He gave her a strange smile that sent volts straight down her legs with something akin to terror or excitement. Maybe both. 

"And speaking of which, I also have a bone to settle with you too." He scoffed. "Using a decoy? A guard? Goodness, I knew mortals were foolish, but this is hitting just below the iceberg, don't you think Melantriche? Do you really think we're so stupid?" 

Again, she was reminded of the tight band of wax over her jaws, but she couldn't even shake her head. She felt more tears coming. This... this was it. She was going to die. No one was coming to rescue her, no one could. From now on she would always be remembered by bards as Melantriche of Athens, the woman who thought she was more beautiful than Artemis. Maybe they'd throw in the entirety of this foolish scheme too, to make it more interesting. Wouldn't that be nice? After what felt like a very long few seconds, she tore her gaze away from the god-man. She felt her head bow limply, hopelessly. What it would feel like, being smote? 

A few seconds... stretched into a minute. It didn't matter; she didn't dare raise her gaze again. Then she heard a scoff.

A snap. A roar. 

She saw a sudden bright redness through her lids. A flare of hellfire heat slapped her across the face. The terrible sound of it made her eyes pop open again. Her head shot up. A numb horror seared her heart as she watched the spot where Aegeus once stood burst into a pillar of white red fire. She could see the plume of his helmet spark like a match, his armor melt into a pool of bronze liquid, seeping into the cracks between the pavement stones. His screams of pain could barely be heard through the crackle and roar of the flames, which seemed almost living as they licked the air hungrily, expanding, seeking more victims. Melantriche stumbled backwards, hearing the screaming become louder. A second later, she realized it was her own screaming, trapped inside her mouth, with nowhere else to go but out her ears. Her shaking hands gathered into fists, which she balled against her soaking eyes. 

This... this was too much. This was a nightmare, or something else. It couldn't be anything other. The heat of the bonfire felt as if it were singeing the entire first layer of her skin, the scent of Aegeus' roasting body permeating Melantriche's nose, making her feel sick—oh, so very sick. She was going to throw up... 

She felt long cool fingers stretch over her shoulders and she flinched away, a helpless sob filling her mouth. After what Aegeus had done, it was hard not to. She... she didn't want to be touched, didn't want to be hurt, didn't want to turn into a human torch...   
The hands shook her, squeezed her cheeks, forced her to open her eyes. Oh please... 

He was looking down at her, grinning softly as if there wasn't someone burning alive in front of them. He stroked her hair, but his gentleness seemed mocking now. 

"Don't look away, Melantriche." He whispered as she struggled to look back at him through the tears. "Wrath is an effective way to amuse oneself." 

And then the world went black all too suddenly.


	21. Chapter 21

It was only a mirage of serenity, the pure blackness all around her. Curtains of black sludge, wrapping around her like a cocoon. Her limbs invisible, listless and heavy as titanium. Her eyes, sheathed in heavy gloss. The air was so thick and stale and muggy that for a terrifying moment, she believed she was still beneath the man that was meant to protect her. And then, she became more frightened, not because the more specific details in her later memories—they were slow in coming—but the idea of not knowing whether or not she was asleep. How long she had been lying there, she had no idea. Considering the many night terrors Melantriche had endured these last few days, it should have been none the more disconcerting to her, but this was much different. The darkness was everywhere, so solid her eyes burned just gazing straight into nothing, the silence deafening. Shutting her eyes, Melantriche struggled, gasping for breaths in the distended happening. She might be buried alive, or drowning, or... 

Strenuous even to twitch a finger, her head cutting through the thickness languidly to and fro. Nothing, nothing for miles. The panic seeped deeply into her. A scream ripped through Melantriche's throat, into the nothingness, but it made absolutely no sound. Silence, silence, silence, forever with no horizon. Nothing, nothing, nothing. 

Can't breathe. 

Can't move. 

Can't think. 

Can't cry. 

Minutes, days, years later.

Suddenly the hysterical urge to laugh assaulted her. Of course! She had to think way back, back before the rape and the pungent taste of beeswax, the details. No one could run away from god, and all that time, in the back of her mind the thoughts came spontaneously, slowly but surely filling Melantriche with deep terror. Sisyphus, the burning hill, the boulder. Tantalus and the pool, the ever sparkling water and the delectable fruits that hung above his lips that he might only just smell their ripeness. The Danaides, caked head to toe in mud and the gummy redness of their husbands for all of eternity festering in disease and guilt. Melantriche herself had pictured her own face, her eyeballs melting like candle wax, dripping down her face ever slowly, marring the beauty that supposedly surpassed Artemis. Or in a nightmare in which she was strapped to a table, stark naked as a babe, surrounded by filthy, faceless men. These thoughts made her feel so very sick with dread, but now somehow, those fanatic musings seemed to pale in comparison to this punishment. And for Melantriche, the fates had picked the worst punishment imaginable: waiting, suspended forever in the darkness, not living but not dying either. Yes, she could imagine herself dying over and over in this room, suffocating, driven insane by the claustrophobia that was already rising out of her. The terror gave way again and she let loose a wild scream, regardless of whether or not she was heard, she shrieked and thrashed against the invisible mold that held her body in one pose. Forever, with no horizon. 

Minutes, days, years later. 

Sleep, to sleep forever didn't seem so terrible. It was almost funny how even though nothing changed, it felt safer to close her eyes and imagine. Only sleeping, only resting... this way, she'd never have to worry about anything ever again. It would be as if she didn't even exist. Be calm, Melantriche, you're resting in your mother's womb. Only resting...


	22. Chapter 22

Concerning anyone who had ever been jerked out of a deep sleep, who knows if it could have compared to the alarm that jolted Melantriche out of her eternal rest. Perhaps it could have easily been compared to an infant being pushed out into the harsh world, filled with blinding light and shouting and the dryness and the cold— oh, so cold. 

Slim tendrils of searing heat, wrapping around what she thought might be her wrist, and the grip was startlingly strong. Maybe it was because she had been there so long, she had merged in with the onyx nothing and that's why it hurt so much to be pulled out all too quickly from it. Breaking the surface of the room she was thrust into the air, then, feeling her feet slap against the ground, found no solid solace. She was bounced back into the air and down again, slipping and landing on her hands and knees. Sobbing, noisily sucking up thick frosty air, coughing up something that, at best could be described as solidified water, she came to a rude awakening that she may or may not have forgotten how to breathe properly. Her hands slid out from underneath her, to and fro. Almost fascinated, she dug into the squishy, slippery substance with the tips of her toes and palms. Maybe it wasn't a room, or endless at all, but an ocean made of something like... gelatin. And she had been imprisoned beneath it. 

Through the slips of her soaking hair, slivers of an unimaginable something poured through, burning her eyes. Even if she shut her lids tight, the red glow behind them still blared angrily. It was not easy, registering light after years buried in the darkness, and never with this sort of light, a kind which the likes of a normal human might never see. At dawn, a solid orb of passionate red. All day, bright and white and dazzling. In the evening, liquid dripping pools of mauve and orange and soft pink, sweet and pleasant to look at. It... took exactly that amount of time to adjust to his aura. Teeth chattering, chilly breath ghosting out between her dripping chapped lips, her eyes squinted, struggling to stay open from the cold. But the light almost seemed to reach out to her, and the closer you looked at it, you realized it had a face... 

The god compelled her to stay alert. It was a familiar face, one that brought cold shivers down her spine but somehow, the bleak memories didn't do this glorious creature a single bit of justice. He was tall, lean yet muscular, with smoothly burnished skin the color of sun-kissed wheat. The lines that made up his face were solid and tangible, perfectly chiseled features like marble. A small hero nose, faceted blue eyes the color of the teal ocean waves when the sun sparkled against them, the fair eyebrows, the wavy blond hair—so blond. Each strand seemed to glow separately, pale and flaxen and purely aureate, down to the roots. Never, in all her existence, did Melantriche ever see anyone with such hair. And his mouth... 

Suddenly, Melantriche had to fight the urge to throw up. Her limp hands slapped uselessly against her hot, pounding temples, the sudden memories assailing as if to stone her. Flashes of white, red, and green exploded in her already-blurry vision as she strained to continue balancing herself. 

The feeling of dread, the irritability. 

A bulging pouch of gold coins. The sting of sticky glass blades slapping against her legs. The heat of a hundred bodies screaming for half-off prices, the stench of coriander, sweat, of pigs in the pen. The tall boulder of a middle-aged man, sheathed in iron and iron-faced. His cruel hands, his cruel voice...

Sweet taste of honey. A dazzling smile. His hands. His smile. That smile. 

He was smiling at her now. A strange, sublime and terrible smile as his sparkling eyes flickered over her. She could not comprehend the way she felt, following his eyes down onto herself and for a dumb minute, she had to process that she was, in fact, very naked. Her arms seemed to snap to attention, clumsy and numb and blue from the cold, her fingers desperately clasping at her wet breasts, her rosy nipples peaked and taut from the cold. She slid onto her bottom, her knees crossed in such a way that he wouldn't be able to see in between them. The painful heat of humiliation scorched her cheeks. The god merely threw back his head slightly and laughed, an alien noise to Melantriche. At most, it could be compared to an echoing, dry crackle of burning wood. Positioning his hard gaze on Melantriche again, he took a step forward. Melantriche flinched; to see a figure so solid, moving was almost inconceivable to her. He came closer, and closer, till he looked right above her, simulating a near colossal pillar of bright light. If she chose, she could lean forward and kiss his perfect feet if she chose. He stood with his broad, muscled shoulders back, his spine loose and confident. He seemed to eye her with an artist's touch, crossing his arms and bringing a hand to his chin in a mock-thinking pose. He tutted.

"My, my, my. Why so shy? If it's beauty that can surpass a goddess, then why bother feel any shame?" 

Muteness, the acerbic taste melting in with her saliva. She had been born again, this time with the taste of the wax in her mouth. That's how it felt anyway. She was stuck in her prison for so long she barely noticed it now, except that the god was asking her a question. Speech evaded her even if she could speak; the wax had not dissolved. His hardened eyes made all of her tremble. 

"Melantriche~, you can't even say?" 

Despite the supposed playfulness that he rang her name with, there was no doubting the command that anchored the god's voice. Melantriche jolted. Hands quivering violently, she forced them to her lips, which she parted in a wide grin of sorts. Anguished moans bloated, trapped behind her bound mouth. Frantically, she pointed to teeth, the wax that surely would have yellowed them by now. Ah, brown stained, decaying teeth. Allowing such a resplendent deity the ugly sight made her burn with shame. 

"Hm?" He frowned as he leaned closer, inspecting the supposed problem. After a moment, a sort of mild understanding crossed his tall, tan, unblemished face. "Ah, I forgot about that." His hands reaches down to grasp her arms. Violently, she jerked. His skin was near blistering. "Come here." 

Before she could react—not that it would have helped anyways—he pulled her up against him, lifting her all the way to her tippy toes. Even then, she barely reached his midriff. The sides of her face, burning so horribly, and yet at the same time she couldn't pull away from it. His hands, she realized, were there. Lifting her face to his, he leaned in smoothly and Melantriche could not react on time to the singeing sensation of his lips. 

He was a living flame, was what he was. Agony, is what it was, being kissed by this marvelous man. Agony, true, her own lips, blistering, but it was a soft kind of flame. If such a thing existed, his were moist and water-smooth, like brushing your lips against fresh, sweet cream. And sweet he was, sweeter than the honey he'd given to her. Sweeter than anything she'd ever tasted, something she couldn't very well describe even if she weren't frozen in shock. As she was, he easily invaded her mouth, his tongue, a whip of wet warmth pressed against her teeth, stroking back and forth, and slowly, Melantriche miraculously found puddles of bittersweet liquid building in her cavern. The feeling of it trickling to the back of her throat urged her, and she gulped it down desperately. Her jaws worked free of the gunk, sore from tight mold and disuse. But even as the wax melted away, she could feel the hotness of his tongue, prodding, testing the inter-workings of her mouth. To frightened to register, let alone pull away, Melantriche stood as rigid as a statue despite the terrible heat. She allowed him to kiss her, since he clearly had no reservations in stopping. And guilty as she was, how could she refuse him? A god, of all things? 

Just when Melantriche was sure she would combust into flames, he let go of her. "That's better."

Not even half a second later, she fell straight to her knees again, her forehead pressing against the ground in a pose of utter humility. Words babbled out of her like a waterfall. She babbled without even realizing it. Her mouth, one step ahead of her throbbing brain, spouted the words that echoed in her mind since day one.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I know it was wrong! It was wrong, I'm so sorry! Please forgive me! I didn't mean for it to happen, please! It was all my fault! Please don't punish Lyra! Take me instead! Please please, please, I'll do anything, please—," 

"Stop talking." 

She couldn't help bawling, fists curling into tight white-knuckled balls. There were tears aplenty to drip onto the god's feet. She'd wash them with an entire tub of her tears if that's what he wished of her. She was sorry, she really was. More sorry than anything. It was true what Aegeus said, about their own lives. And she let them cover up her dirty tracks with their bodies, why wouldn't they be insignificant? But Melantriche loved Lyra, she knew that now. Poor Lyra, taken from her home and her family, stripped of her honor, was more deserving of mercy than anyone. But Melantriche didn't want to die, really didn't want to die. Was that such a bad thing? 

But looking at this one, she wanted to. The way he stared at her made her wish she could sink back into the gelatin sea and die. It wasn't a heated, carnal stare. Not like Belenis or Aegeus, or like he did in the agora back in Tigani, but a piercing, swallowing gaze that lay her even more bare than she was, as if he could see her inner flaws as well as the ones skin deep. She could feel that gaze burning into her crumpled, shaking form. How pathetic she must've looked, scrawny and naked and covered with wetness, yellow-teethed and her face a mess of tears, snot and saliva. Who in their right mind would have kissed her like this? 

Finally, she heard a breathy sigh. "Melantriche, stop that. Melantriche, look at me. Please." Slowly, she looked up, breaths heaving and shaky. His face had that marble tightness to it. There was such a hardened to him that it seemed like the softer expression he wore now was nothing more than a mirage. But it was there. Melantriche blinked tears away. His voice tuned down a little. "I knew you were trouble from the start. You have me at a little disadvantage, don't you realize?" 

She nodded frantically. She knew that, knew very well. But she wanted to live. 

"You are a good girl, aren't you, Melantriche?" The strange heat in his eyes impaled her. "Yes, a very good girl indeed. You poor thing." 

Words clawed their way up her throat without her meaning to. "Plea-please, my lord. I won't cause any trouble. I-I'm not..." 

"Hush, please." A small, indiscernible flare of irritation flickered in the god's eyes and she shut up again. He seemed deep in thought, Not fancying the idea of her ruining his musings. "My poor sister... she's in such a fuss over you, you know. It's almost amusing really. Do you realize how hard it is to rile her so?" 

Sister? Melantriche's mouth opened and closed like a fish, eyes big as saucers. The pieces fit together perfectly, it seemed. What other god could be this golden? The humiliation was as tangible as a knife wound now, and now she really wished that she could just die now. His kiss still scorched her mouth. A strange numb dizziness fell over her as their eyes searched each other. 

"Hah... it was a mistake, sending me. I was too sloppy, and now I've ended up liking you a bit."

"L... liking... me?" The words came out as a squeak. He chuckled. 

"Yes, you. Forget that." He made a beckoning motion. "Get up." 

She did, albeit shaking immensely and tripping over herself in an effort to. She still crossed her hands over herself, body burning from the cold and the heat at the same time. His hand reached out to her, ghosting over her naked shoulder, her arm, her belly. Shock bolted through her and she twitched, struggling to find breath. It didn't escape him. 

"I was planning to kill you anyway," he purred, a strange husky sound, "but... change of plans. Come here." 

She obeyed. His wrapping his heated arms around her chilled little body couldn't stop the terrified shaking. She didn't know what was going on, only that... somehow by the grace of the fates—by Apollo—she was being spared. For now. 

"Wh-What are you going to do to me?" She whimpered. She could practically hear the smirk in his voice. 

"Don't think you've been let off so easily. I still intend to keep my world to my sister. However..." he sped around on one foot, walking into the dark unknown confidently, Melantriche still under his arm. He purred huskily in her ear, eliciting cold shivers down her spine, 

"You'll be taking your punishment my way."

**Author's Note:**

> “I writhe beneath the sun, but I bow before nothing under.”


End file.
